Songs of Cinder
by Kool Khajiit
Summary: The Songs' melodies echo high in the darkened sky. Once free from the slavemaster, a "no ordinary" slave faces unexpected threats from beyond Nirn, and has to write a refrain for the events that weave the web of his fate, the fate of the thrice cursed Morrowind, and the black waters of Oblivion. Game gets big, there is nowhere to hide when one is a vessel for the soul of a Daedra.
1. Trading Daedra

_Please note that it's my first fanfiction ever, and English is not my native language. I'll continue to write more chapters if the first one was enjoyable enough. I know it is fairly small, but I'm trying my best.  
Also, one must be quite knowledgeable about The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind or Dragonborn DLC for The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim in order to understand._

_I hope you'll enjoy. _

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**Songs of Cinder, Book I: Trading Daedra**

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The moons were full on 2nd of Sun's Dusk, Boethia's Summoning Day. A silt strider caravan, escorted by several sellsword parties and accompanied by a small bunch of Khajiiti captives, was seen from one of Tear's watchtowers, surfing through the marshy landscape that housed the villages and plantations of House Dres. A few moments later, one could hear the opening of the town's massive southern gate as the caravan approached. An elderly Dunmer unmounted the silt strider just as the caravan docked, a gray wrap concealing his whole face, a lantern in his right hand barely lighting a few metres around him. After stepping on an old wooden scaffolding, he gave a sign to the others to prepare all the slaves and wares, and reached out to a small cage, scribbled with Daedric letters, resting on his mount.

The Old Kollop Cornerclub, a haven for local wealthy slave traders and fortune-seeking adventurers alike, had its rusty front doors open wide for the recently arrived merchants. The Dunmer entered the cornerclub after dismissing the caravan, and sat on a chair by the fire, placing the cage and the purse full of gold in front of him. Before he could take the last sip of sujamma, a fellow Dunmer, clad in Netch leather, walked up to his chair and started examining the cage.

"Well, certainly it is no ordinary slave right here," the latter said. "Never seen anything like that in the Old Kollop before."

"This is something that must fit best to be a slave, serjo. But, if I were you, I'd cast that spawn back adrift the waters of Oblivion from whence it came. I never liked trifling with such kinds of dealings, but it seems I don't have a choice now."

"A hundred drakes is hardly a price for such rarity." the Dunmer by the name of Tedryn Brenur replied, eager to strike a deal. He pulled up a chair and flashed a bag of coins in front of the dealer.

"I don't really care about gold as long as I can get rid of this... Foul creature, to say the least."

"Date of birth?" Tedryn raised his brow.

"4th of Second Seed. True, it is no more than two years and six months old, but, you know, raised a slave - always a slave, if you make sure he's kept the proper way, of course."

Tedryn did not say a word, but took his dagger and cut the bag instead. Coins spilled all over the table with a pleasing sound that surely conjures a wide smile on every dealer's face. This particular dealer, however, did not show any signs of satisfaction with neither disposing of the cage nor having more coin in his pockets than he had originally planned. He silently stood up, thanked Tedryn for a purchase and rented a room before heading upstairs in a hurry.

"It seems another soul had its touch of luck tonight, hadn't it, sera?" The bartender said, serving a couple of bottles of flin to Tedryn, who was staring at the scribbles on the cage. Even the continuous sound of coins flipping on tables and jingling in purses, the loud singing of "The Battle of Molag Beran" and the handy high-kick could not disctract him. His eyes were full of interest and desire to open the lock and see what's inside. The dealer, Mithorpa Nasyal, threw his bag on the bed and opened the window only to be showered by sparks of the nearby forge and the pleasant wind blowing in his face. He took off the wraps, revealing his handsome, if a bit tainted by age, face. He never thought he'd end up travelling around Tamriel, selling things an average merchant would not be expected to sell. He made an inhuman sound in his throat, as he realised that he has just sold a Daedric soul, and thus subject to some Daedra's fury. All of these thoughts that haunted him throughout the night, and the sorry state of Tear seen from his window in its full "beauty", contributed to Mithorpa's depression. Both did not possess a single clue of what they've done this night.

2nd of Sun's Dusk, 3E 414.


	2. A Khajiit Without a Tail

_My second chapter in the "Songs of Cinder" series. Check out Songs of Cinder, Book I before reading this._

_Excuse my English in advance, and tell me what you think in a review._

_I hope you'll enjoy._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book II: A Khajiit Without a Tail**

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Urjorahn opened his eyes. Everything was the same: the same rotten ceiling, which was giving signs of being ready to fall on his head at any time, the lantern so dim one could only see the ceiling it was hanging on, the end table with its shelves open, full of crumpled up pieces of old paper, scribbled and doodled with Daedric letters that Urjorahn made, using charcoal he managed to find under his hay pile. The same Daedric letters as those he only caught a single glimpse of when he was transported to Vvardenfell, those which were on his cage. He felt like it was an eternity, even though only sixteen years had passed. He never really knew what these Daedric letters were supposed to mean, neither did he care.

From a slave's perspective, everything is always the same, and things hardly ever change behind the bars of his cage door. If they do, most react to it as a blessing from above, or a curse. Sadly enough, more as a curse. The other slaves, a Khajiiti bunch transported the same night as young Urjorahn was, were mocking him for his unusual appearance. Urjorahn was considerably taller than them, but so skinny that his dark grey fur couldn't hide the fact that he hasn't eaten in weeks. His nose and left cheek had fairly noticeable marks made with red paint, which was also seen on his skinny arms and neck. Urjorahn never ever erased them; he always believed that this paint may hint at the clan he was born to back in Elsweyr, or at his past in general. His eyes scared even the slavemasters themselves - one could call them glowing white orbs, as they certainly were not those of an average Khajiit. The most bizarre of all his features was his tail, or, more exactly, lack thereof. Everyone was making up the silliest stories about his taillessness, ranging from it being stolen by a skilled thief, or a curse from one of the gods, but no one but Urjorahn himself knew the truth: a terrible wound, clearly indicating that his tail was cut off - a great shame for any Khajiit, even a hopeless slave. But even Urjorahn didn't know who did this, when and for what purpose. He thought he truly was cursed for reasons unknown.

All of these features combined together - and one gets the full image of a sickly, tailless, mad cat, dressed in a dirty and ragged roughspun tunic, that is Urjorahn.

"This one obviously has been having evening meals with Sheggorath the Skooma Cat, eh?" Dro'masha kept saying this to Urjorahn. True, he looked like a skooma addict, or someone who underwent years of Daedric influence.

It is no wonder that everyone treated Urjorahn even worse than them average beastfolk; slavemasters wouldn't miss a single chance to give him some extra work or punishing him twice more. He was, quite literally, an abomination. "Raised a slave - always a slave", these words were forever in his memory.

The sun was only partially lighting the grotto that was used for keeping slaves, and it was difficult to say whether it was midnight or afternoon. Everyone managed to keep track of time due to the guardsmen's daily routine - every morning they took their blades and clubs and hit the bars of every cage door, yelling "Wake up, filthy n'wah!" and thus making a noise that could make even the sleepiest of slaves stand up and be ready for a hard day's work like they've been awake this whole time. This morning was no exception, and when all of the slaves were woken, the cage doors opened one by one. A large, brutish Dunmer, capable of bringing down a Nord warrior by the looks of him, lead the slaves outside, towards the blinding light. Urjorahn rubbed his eyes and opened them one more time once he got used to the sunlight. The same plantation, hugging the edges of a hill just west of Pelagiad, was before him. The hill itself was sticked with villas all over, creating an impression that it was made of those. Perhaps these villas were the only sign of a civilized culture that Urjorahn and the rest of the slaves knew, spending most of their time in a dark grotto. He could see the figure of the slavemaster Tedryn a couple of metres away, enjoying the sight of hundreds of working slaves. The latter took a look at Urjorahn, recognising his old purchase, his heart giving birth to regret, as he indeed came to regret his actions in the Old Kollop that night. Urjorahn, however, made it clear that he isn't going to stay here for longer, his eyes full of confidence Tedryn hadn't seen in years.

"You better get to work, n'wah!" Tedryn shouted, "Or, do you want an another portion of punishment I had prepared for you?"

Urjorahn saw a few guardsmen, clad in bonemold, approaching him.

"We'll see how you change your attitude after a good beating." one of the guardsmen said, slowly unsheathing his short blade and pointing it at the slave. Instead of replying, Urjorahn hissed and got back to work.

As well as being different in appearance, Urjorahn was also notable for disobeying the slavemasters more often than the others did, a feature Tedryn hated deeply. While certainly he wasn't quite the servant, the only thing that kept Tedryn from killing him was Mithorpa Nasyal's words after the deal. Words that terrified even Tedryn himself, a Dunmer who tested his mettle and blade in bloody battle and his tongue for gift of deceit.

Words that Tedryn wished to keep secret.


	3. Twin Lamps' Light

_A third chapter in the series, I hope you'll enjoy. More action coming with the next chapters. Excuse my English._

_Tell me what you think!_

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**Songs of Cinder, Book III: Twin Lamps' Light**

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The well-decorated private bedchambers were nicely lit. Tedryn was leaning on his chair, blowing the candles on the table and placing his ornate dagger back on its plaque, when a knock on the door interrupted his preparations for sleep. Tedryn opened the door to be greeted by a heavily breathing courier, almost drenched in sweat.

"What have you got for me?" Tedryn asked in a low key, clearly indicating his displeasure over such a sudden invasion of privacy.

"A letter, sera," the courier reached out to his satchel and pulled out a folded piece of flavescent paper. Tedryn took the letter before rewarding the courier with a purse of drakes and a loud shutting of a wooden door. He grappled his dagger and removed the seal in a hurry; letters were quite rare, not only because of the fact that the couriers find it very troublesome to roam the ashlands, but also because the Brenur plantation obviously did not house any nobility to be bothered with. The letter in Tedryn's hands didn't have any signs of being worn out by the ash, and the ink was almost as fresh as the moment it was written.

_"Dear serjo Hlaalu-Tedryn,"_ he began to read in the same low key, _"The following letter is a business arrangement. I wish to purchase a number of your Khajiiti slaves as per House Telvanni's request. While it may seem quite unlikely that a respected slavemaster of your type would engage in a bad pennyworth like that, there is a considerable amount of money for your trouble that should cover everything. If you're interested in the deal, please be sure to write a letter of response before the 23rd of Frostfall, and meet my men by Pelagiad front gate the same day, where a caravan for slaves' transportation and a purse of nine thousand drakes, a thousand per slave, will be waiting for you. A party of trained battlemages will ensure the maximum safety of the caravan."_

A seal of Great House Telvanni was placed instead of a buyer's name at the bottom of the letter, with the Daedric "Oht" slightly above the seal.

Mixed thoughts went through Tedryn's head upon reading the letter; the conflicting desires for both getting rid of the slaves and refusing the mysterious offer were on his mind. Most of the Khajiit were obedient servants, but Urjorahn's uneasy character and keeping conditions left Tedryn hesitant. Still, the deal seemed to be beneficial for him, and he quickly took out a piece of paper and an inkwell from his end table.

Urjorahn woke up at midnight; eerie visions of a dark realm and distorted voices visited him in his sleep. He couldn't close his eyes, afraid of the nightmare's return. The same Daedric letters and outlines haunted him, yet no paper was left, and he started scribbling them on the walls of his cell. A sleepy guard, sipping sujamma to stay awake and clearly not afraid of losing his sobriety in the midst of a night shift, noticed the slave and headed towards his cell. The confusion in his eyes was seen even through his Bonemold helm. Urjorahn pretended to fall asleep in hopes of getting rid of the watching guard, who called his mate instead. The second one, clad in the same Bonemold, was already asleep by the grotto's exit, his helmet slowly sliding down his head, when a shout woke him up. Surprised and ready to expect the grotto's unwelcome trespassers, he unsheathed his rusty steel war axe, only to realise that it was a simple call that made him act hilarious. He walked down the squeaking stairs, sheathing his axe and putting the helmet straight after loud complaining at the blurry and darkened vision.

"Look here, Fadril," said one of the guards, who was standing by the cage door with an open bottle of sujamma in his hand.

"The slave is asleep, Dalamus," the just woken guard by the name of Fadril replied, "I thought you were going to show me anything worth the hassle. You should drink less."

"Open your eyes, oaf!" Dalamus pointed at the wall. It was written in Daedric all over, with a round outline featuring a large "Oht" inside.

"Well... That's..." Fadril placed his hand at the back of his head.

"Strange? Terrifying? Suspicious? We should report this to Captain Brenur immediately. Come on."

The two went up the stairs, with Fadril expressing his reluctance over visiting Tedryn's villa when the slavemaster is most likely to be asleep. Urjorahn was expecting some kind of a punishment, but he was not afraid. And that scared him even more.

A morning on the 23rd of Frostfall was as clear as most of the mornings over at the Brenur plantation, with all the clouds gathering above the hills as they always did. Tedryn was walking down the beaten path from Pelagiad, carrying a heavy purse over his shoulder. There was more than enough for him to buy some new garments and a decent house in Balmora. He headed to the guard tower south of the plantation, and opened the massive front door. The tower was obviously not as well-decorated as his private bedchambers were, but the interior did have a pleasing atmosphere mostly due to a fireplace on the ground floor. Tedryn placed the purse on an end table by the door before ordering a guardsman keep an eye on it, and requested to see Fadril and Dalamus. Both approached the slavemaster shortly thereafter.

"What is it?" Tedryn asked.

"We have witnessed suspicious activity in one of the slaves' cells. Daedric letters. Written all over the walls. I have never seen drawings like these in my whole life, muthsera. Sheogorath's madness took one of the n'wah for sure." Dalamus said.

The caravan was halfway to Sadrith Mora, the capital of House Telvanni on Vvardenfell, when it suddenly stopped. One of the sellswords took a look around, holding his lantern in front of him, before a swift arrow reached his throat. Several shadows moved through the bushes and and tree branches, taking out the escorting mages one by one before they raised a dust. Then, a dozen of ropes entwined the silt strider's carapace, holding the mount until it fell, knocking some of the slaves, including Urjorahn, unconscious. All that he heard was the ringing of blades and the loud casting of spells. Then, a male voice called him before getting his slave bracers off.

"Get them all to safety!" the man shouted.

Then everything went black.


	4. Spellwrights and Magisters

_The fourth chapter in the series. As always, keep in mind that English isn't my native language, and it's my first fanfiction ever._

_I hope you'll enjoy._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book IV: Spellwrights and Magisters**

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The same male voice woke Urjorahn when he found himself in what seemed to be a camp of sorts. He never felt so comfortable all his life; a warm bedroll replaced the hard hay pile. He was a slave no more.

A young Dunmer guy stood near Urjorahn, examining him. He walked in circles, looking at the Khajiit's peculiar eyes and wondering why the lad had no tail. Then, he sat down near a low table. Urjorahn could see lots of cracked slave bracers lying on the table and around it.

"My name is Yen," the Dunmer said, still staring at Urjorahn, "How should I call you, my friend?"

"Oh, a Dunmer frees a slave. A Dunmer. Frees a slave. Contradictions in my head. You might be sick, no?" Urjorahn replied instead of introducing himself.

"The documents we recovered on that silt strider state that a gray tailless cat is Urjorahn, that's how I should call you?" Yen said, praying by Mephala's altar.

"The Dunmer is right. But no cats in there, Urjorahn assures you," he tried to stand up before he noticed the wounds, "How long has Urjorahn been asleep?"

"Oh, you slept for two weeks, Khajiit. Ha!" Yen chuckled.

"The Khajiit was born a slave, but not yesterday."

"How did you end up a slave?" Yen asked, staring at Urjorahn, who in turn looked at the slave bracers.

"End up? But you are wrong. We are born slaves. Freedom is but an illusion, a shadow of the truth that hides within our minds, friend. The night sky. This one surely must have seen the night sky. The dark waters flow. Realms beyond mortal grasp. Everyone is a slave, Yen. The Dro-m'Athra. The Slavemasters."

"Perhaps a long fall rendered you insane, Khajiit."

"And the Dro-m'Athra, they made us slaves. They sing songs of destruction and deception while mortals curse their realms. You are a slave, friend. We all are. As long as the void-like eye watches us from afar, hiding among the stars, we are under control. Possession." Urjorahn closed his eyes.

"Everything's all right?" Yen was afraid of asking him any more questions, as the latter's monologue was obviously terrifying.

"The mortal does not seem to understand Urjorahn. But the key to a greater understanding lies where the truth does. You bash and clash and slash while the Dro-m'Athra are watching. Silently. They do not interfere. They do not like it. A good show is what mortals provide them with," Urjorahn opened his left eye, "This one could tell Urjorahn which mortal is unlucky to have his deal ruined. Oh, poor Urjorahn is lost. Lost while searching for his own self. How awkward, that."

"The purchase agreement did not have any signatures. Only this," Yen showed Urjorahn a seal of House Telvanni with an "Oht" above it.

"Ah, the Great Houses like such agreements and arrangements. How boring, all these odds and ends. Slaves come and slaves go, but there can never be enough drakes in one's pockets. Ding-ding-dong, more gold is what keeps the machine running. Sadrith Mora, the Forest of Mushrooms, is the next checkpoint, no?"

"Yes. That's where the caravan was supposed to arrive," Yen looked down, and then, raised his eyes again, looking at Urjorahn, "The leader of the Twin Lamps has been brutally slaughtered. Folks say Camonna Tong was involved. Now, rumor has it that our unit at Ascadian Isles will be disbanded, I don't know where to go."

"Urjorahn is willing to take mortals with him. Ah, but the blade is way too sharp for him, sharper than his claws. Urjorahn doesn't know much. Urjorahn doesn't know the taste of combat, the thrill of the successful swing. Perhaps this one would show him the ropes?"

"We should travel to Ebonheart first." Yen said as he stood up and entered the small tent. Urjorahn managed to stand up and followed the Dunmer, a terrible pain in his side persisted. Once in the tent, one could see lots of weapon plaques and racks, old chests and mannequins, everything lit by a couple of candles and lanterns standing beside Urjorahn. Yen opened one of the chests with a loud and unpleasant creak; dozen of swords, round iron and Netch leather shields, maces and axes were there, glistening in the lanterns' light. He took a steel mace and handed it to Urjorahn, who bended under its weight.

"Heavy things do not appeal to Urjorahn. Perhaps this one could find a fine, short blade for him. He doesn't want to make much of a mess crushing and smashing skulls like this." Urjorahn said, dropping the mace on the ground. After rummaging in the chest, he took a shortsword instead. Eager to throw away the scabbard, he ran out of the tent, and attempted to deliver a blow to a dummy standing next to him. The strike reflected, and Urjorahn let the blade down before falling himself. Yen watched the silly Khajiit and laughed as the latter tried to swing a sword the right way, most often losing his grip on its hilt. As hours passed, Urjorahn got more used to the sword, swinging more confidently and letting the blade down twice as less, and Yen showed him how to hold it so that it won't be dropped after a reflected strike. The more Urjorahn trained on the dummy, the stronger he thrusted a sword in it. When the night fell, Urjorahn's blows were deadly enough to kill or severely wound anything that he could come across during his travels. Tired, with fast and labored breathing, he fell to the ground, still holding the sword steady.

"You seem to be doing well," Yen said, stretching out a loaf of bread to the Khajiit. Fresh bread was extremely rare when Urjorahn was a slave, and it was one of the few things considered as a blessing under the cruel hand of Tedryn Brenur.

Tedryn was staring at the walls of Urjorahn's cell, his facial expression so terrified that Fadril and Dalamus couldn't utter a single word. He leaned on the wall and reached out to Urjorahn's end table; papers scribbled with the same outlines as those on the walls tipped out of it. A lonely courier approached the slavemaster and informed him of the caravan's recent interception.

"No, it can't be..." Tedryn ran out of the grotto and towards the villas, he did not look so surprised in a lifetime, "By Azura... No!"

He bursted into his bedchambers and started searching for a book on his shelf in tense anxiety the guards have never seen before. He reached out to a black book, blew the dust and opened it; the very same outline. He glanced at Fadril, who turned his head to Dalamus, as both did not know what happened to the captain. Tedryn gave a sign to gather all the guards near the grotto's entrance immediately, his terrified and anxious look changing to an angry one before he said: "We're going to find this n'wah!"

Yen hasn't laughed so hard his whole life; Urjorahn managed to fall off Limp, the calmest of guar found at Twin Lamps' camp, six times during their journey to Ebonheart. But as with the swordplay, Urjorahn held the saddle steadier, and soon felt comfortable on Limp's back. Ebonheart's massive stone walls were seen from afar; Yen and Urjorahn could discern an Imperial castle through a thin veil of mist. Mere moments passed, and they were standing by the entrance, Urjorahn still trying to cope with Limp despite his best efforts. A large stone statue of a dragon stood at the center of Ebonheart's main street; a mythical and powerful creature. Yen used to know tales of those, but all of them were shrouded in mystery, and folks never believed in their existence.

"Dragons, huh?" he turned to Urjorahn.

"This one thinks they don't exist? Oh, but everyone knows they're hiding, mortal. Trust Urjorahn's extrasensory perception, they do exist. Beyond our understanding, beyond our petty and foolish concepts, just like everything is." Urjorahn smiled.

"You think these wretched things existed? Well, maybe we were pulling the silt strider way too hard."

"Urjorahn doesn't have evidence either."

As they walked down the streets of Ebonheart, past the blacksmith's workshop, glistening armors of steel and fine expensive raiments caught Urjorahn's eye. A leather cuirass, tightly fastened with strips and boiled by the looks of it, seemed to be most impressive for a young Khajiit, and he pulled Yen and pointed at the cuirass, hanging on one of the sticks of the tailor's bench. Yen reached out to his purse and took out a few gold coins. Urjorahn has not seen so many in his entire life despite being a slave, in an environment where gold is what kept things running. Once the deal was stroke, the Khajiit got himself a nice armor and a pair of boots. This was the first time he felt so happy, the first time he came to understand what happiness meant. What freedom meant.

Now, Urjorahn, clad in Netch leather, a shortsword resting on his hip, had everything he needed to venture out. Yen bought some salves and poisons as well as a new mace, a new knapsack to store everything he purchased, and the two were ready to bid Ebonheart goodbye. A new life for a couple of adventurers, the whole District ripe for plunder and teeming with dangerous creatures, yearning to be explored - true, Yen's thoughts were about seeking fortune in the new land. Urjorahn needed to know who he is, who he was destined to be.

The nightly guar ride across the rolling green plains and fields of the Ascadian Isles and Azura's Coast did not offer much of a challenge, with the exception of cliff racers, who were surfing the night sky, circling around the two but not attempting to attack either of them. They were close to Sadrith Mora; the road was going through the forests of Emperor Parasol, the moss hanging from the mushrooms and all the way down to the ground. The road itself was bordered by scathecraw bushes, giant roots could be seen among the Parasol. Soon, Urjorahn could see a banner hanging on a root; Great House Telvanni's insignia was pictured, as well as an arrowhead pointing at Telvanni capital's location. Sadrith Mora's stone gate, as well as the Gateway Inn's entrance lit by orange lanterns on the stairs, was only a few metres away from the adventurers, and Tel Naga's top was seen through the walls of the town. The two rented a room in the cornerclub, leaving their guars by the stables.

A week passed, and Urjorahn managed to become a Telvanni retainer and got himself some new robes as a token of his membership. The Mouths over at the Council House were not so lenient towards the Khajiit, but he did make some friends within the House, eventually ending up having enough coin to live, a place to stay in the town, and the experience of the arcane arts. Since that time, he spent the days in Tel Naga's lower levels and the vast library, his nose in the books and his satchel full of scrolls. The nights were spent in endless attempts at mastering the magics, understanding magicka's very flow and channeling it. Yen made a fortune by engaging in numerous profitable businesses in the town, such as being a blacksmith's apprentice or Morag Tong assassins' errand boy. Both became full-fledged citizens of Sadrith Mora, blended with the Telvanni society. As Urjorahn was going up the ranks, he came to know of the "less honest ways" of deceit and conspiracies. Athys Falen, a Spellwright of House Telvanni, was ordered to be taken care of by one of the high Magisters; luckily enough, Urjorahn had the skill in stealth, a trait which he exploited when escaping his cage and sneaking behind the guards back at Brenur plantation. House Telvanni's mages preferred taking care of the House's problems without the Morag Tong's help, relying on the cheaper retainers of lower ranks eager to go up. A few machinations of Urjorahn's - and poor Falen was sent to rot in Sadrith Mora's jail. No bloodshed, no mess to clean up, just as the Khajiit wanted for the fellow Dunmer's career to end.

Everything was going on well, before Urjorahn found a clue that might tell him who was the mysterious buyer.

A tattered note with the very same seal.


	5. Chasing Shadows

_Book V is finally released, and that means roughly half of the first tome is finished. I thank you people for the favs._

_I hope you'll enjoy._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book V: Chasing Shadows**

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_"The slave pens must be ready once the deal with Camonna Tong is made. A cavern underneath Sadrith Mora is the perfect place. Clear all the rubble and cut off the roots hanging on the ceiling and along the passageways. The caravan is scheduled to arrive in town by 25th of Frostfall, make sure every slave is delivered, especially the tailless one."_ Urjorahn could not read the rest of the letter as words were erased to the point of being unreadable. He turned his back to Athys, who was leaning on the wooden table opposite of the prison cell's door.

"Khajiit is waiting for explanations." Urjorahn said.

"So am I," Athys replied, his look changing to an angry one, "I guess Gothren himself wanted me to end up here. Or was it Neloth? Speak, cat."

"Urjorahn only needs to know where the note is from. He is deeply sorry for your, err, current state, but the shadows are tricky, no? Mortals should keep their both eyes open when dealing with high ranks. The angry Dunmer surely would not want any more trouble, hmm?"

"I don't know who the sender is myself. Now get off my back."

"No Moon Sugar, but perhaps Urjorahn may sweeten your sentence, mortal. In exchange for information. Win-win right here, Khajiit assures you."

The Spellwright shrugged.

"This one won't have any troubles with having your arse held too tight by the guards, and Urjorahn will walk away a happier Khajiit."

"Well, nearly a moon ago the n'wah told me to meet him by some ancestral tomb in the Ashlands. Give me a few minutes, cat..." Athys sat on the disheveled bed, placing the lantern closer so that his face was seen better, "I think it belonged to Veleth family. Yes, Veleth Ancestral Tomb. Due west of the Ghostfence, off the beaten path down the ashen hills, sitting on a dune. He told me that I'll be his eyes in Sadrith Mora, and handed me a purse of gold. I bet Lord High Magus himself wouldn't reward you any better."

"So, Urjorahn senses some connection between this, an invisible thread that envelops the events. This one has been interested in the tailless Khajiit, hmm?"

"Yes. I guess it is you, cat."

"Warm sands then, mortal. Urjorahn thanks this one for assistance. You'll notice that your, uh, time in the prisons will get better in no time. And try not to get yourself in any of these schemes, trust the Khajiit. No good comes out of the shadows, a wrong step aside and one may never see the light of day, mortal." Urjorahn turned and slowly went towards the large round door, holding his sword's scabbard.

"Soon, filthy Magisters will see Athys Falen break free again." The Spellwright chuckled, raising his arms.

"Break free? No, the Khajiit only had arranged a few furnishings for the cell. Urjorahn wants the poor Dunmer to relax and get comfortable. As comfortable as possible, hmm?" the Khajiit smiled as Athys quite literally growled in bewilderment.

The next few days were spent on packing bags and further training in swordplay and arcane arts, as Yen and Urjorahn prepared for the forthcoming trip to the Ashlands. They set off in the early morning, after the guar saddles were fastened and a new varnished carriage was attached, full of knapsacks, chests, a couple of packed bedrolls and a tent. Yen was driving through the plains, while Urjorahn played the drums in the carriage, humming a tune softly to the beat and lifting his companion's spirit, who held his mace's handle steady in case the travelers stumble upon unwanted passers. The closer they were to to the ash wastes, the more scathecraw and ash scatters were along and on the stone road, and the Red Mountain's peak was seen more clearly in spite of the clouds of ash that cloaked the volcano. The air was getting more bitter, and it was harder to breathe. Yen did come across a few twisted, ashen zombies, believing them to be victims of the dead and gone Blight. After a few swings that kept the foul beasts away from the carriage, and pricking the mounts forward, the two managed to escape, riding along the stone obelisks and down the hills. Urjorahn only managed to get a few glances at the Temple banners that were hanging by the signposts and above the Ghostfence's wide passageway. Soon, a crypt's pillars were seen standing by the ash dunes; Veleth Ancestral Tomb's entrance was nearly buried by the continuous ash storms, but the front door itself was quite clean, and there was little ash, as if someone swept it no more than an hour ago. After getting out of the carriage and leaving the guar by the entrance, Urjorahn pushed the old door. A narrow coridor, poorly lit and engulfed in ash, was before him, as he proceeded down into the tomb, Yen watching his back and holding a lantern.

"Welcome," an eerie elderly voice whispered, echoing in the hallways. Urjorahn looked about: nothing except the ash and the offerings in wooden bowls.

"Come, come. Deeper," the voice echoed once more, "Deeper the tomb."

Dark figures appeared on the other end of a chamber, emitting black and red smoke and a strange sound that echoed the way the voice did. Yen blinked, and the corpses emerged from the ash, giving out the same smoke and howling silently. The dark dwellers turned to Urjorahn and Yen, who were showing some signs of fear but were still ready for a fight. The figures disappeared in a reddish portal, leaving the dirty work to the reanimated ash, as the corpses advanced to the tomb's guests, with rotten weapons held in their ashen hands. Yen cried, holding his mace aloft above his chest, and delivered the first and deadly blow before a stream of flames followed his swing from behind, incinerating the foes. After a few incantations, Urjorahn could not manage the flow of magicka, as the supply was running dry, and he unsheathed his blade, sticking to the shadows cast by the pillars and columns of the chamber. The ashen corpse's strike was evaded and blocked by Yen, who in turn stepped aside to let the Khajiit thrust a blade from above, as the latter managed to climb up to the ceiling. The fight ended after the last clash of swords, with the adventurers emerging victorious, standing by the still burning ash piles. The massive door in front of them opened itself, with the fire pits along the hallway igniting one by one, providing enough light for the guests.

"Impressive," the voice echoed once more, "Proceed. Further."

Urjorahn took the lead, Yen following right behind him, as the thin clouds and mist of black smoke were swirling on the floor and by the walls. Soon, they could see a sealed door in the end of the coridor; the seal was inscribed with Daedric lettering, the outlines similar to those that were haunting Urjorahn's dreams. For some unholy reason, he knew how to open the door, and he approached the seal.

"Ah, but this is very familiar to Urjorahn. Almost suspiciously so. A few more letters need to be added for the puzzle to be complete, as with the picture: more details born on the canvas, and the the portal is conjured beyond the scenery. But the Khajiit needs a charcoal. Yen, Yen, give the charcoal."

"By Vivec, I don't think this is a good idea, Urjorahn." Yen replied, handing his companion a piece of charcoal with a hint of unwillingness.

The Khajiit scribbled a few letters on the bottom left piece of the seal: Oht, Hefhed, Xayah, Lyr, Yahkem, and Oht again. The seal's outlines started glowing with red light, and Urjorahn stepped back to witness the round door open, pieces moving in circular directions and ash showering from the lit cracks. A half-collapsed chamber was beyond the the door, a Velothi tower standing at the center. The two went down the the ramp but could not come close to the tower, as if an invisible barrier was preventing them from approaching.

"Greetings, Urjorahn," the voice echoed.

"May this one introduce himself? Khajiit does not like talking to strangers."

"I know what led you here," the voice replied, "I am Velar. Velar Veleth. The one who purchased you, yes. But the target appeared to be as elusive... as me! I appreciate your moves, serjo. You move closer to your goal, eliminating pawns on your way with little to no effort! I know what happened to Athys Falen, and I admire your tactics. However, it is high time for you to die, as only one player will be a victor in this game. Fare thee well, young fools." the voice laughed, with the echoes heard in every corner of the chamber. A red light emerged from the tower's top, ascending through the hole above, before it was no more, and the adventurers could see a clear night sky. Few more corpses went out of the adjacent hallways buried in the ash, before the two managed to defeat them in a lengthy battle of steel and spells.

"Velar?" Yen looked amazed, "The Defiler? Himself? He must have been dead for centuries..."

The barrier vanished, and Urjorahn could enter the tower. They could see a vast library, with the shelves bending under stacks of old tomes, a cozy study and and enchanting workshop near the lectern, ash-covered chests that were once an expensive feature of a nobleman's bedchambers. As Urjorahn dug his way through the library, blowing the dust off the books, he came across a collection that interested him the most; a Scroll of Shadow, telling stories of Azra Nightwielder, the "shadowmage", his feats, his advances in "Shadow Magic". A few letters were laying under the scrolls and tomes, still sealed and thus possibly unread by Velar, whoever he might be.

Urjorahn removed the seals. The sender was Llether Veleth, who happened to be his nephew according to the letters. He begged his uncle to stop fulfilling the foul plan before mentioning "the tailless one" yet again. A thought to summon Llether to his aid went through Yen's mind the moment Urjorahn finished reading all of the letters.

Together, they composed a letter, sitting in a dusty study; Urjorahn wished Velar had done some cleaning since he resided here. Llether's location, the castle of Twilight Hall, rumored to be somewhere between Skyrim and the sandy dunes of Volenfell, was signed at the bottom of every letter Urjorahn read. The two left for nearby Ald'ruhn, the seat of House Redoran, and stayed at the local cornerclub, looking for a courier desperate enough to deliver the message to such a distant land. Luckily, they found one, drinking bottles of mazte by one of the tables near the poorly lit corner. All they had to do is show a fat purse and the letter itself, and the courier was on his way, taking a last sip of mazte. The journey was long, through the ash storms, the unforgiving snow, the twisted landscape of the Reach so alien to the citizen of Ald'ruhn. No more than a year passed, and Llether arrived on Vvardenfell, eager to uncover the mystery of his accursed uncle. The shadowmage went along the silent coridor and into the main chamber, a large satchel resting on his back, scrolls sticking out of it. He went down the ramp, as the two adventurers stood by the tower's entrance, waiting for their guest.

"So, the tailless one... Hmm, Velar is indeed alive, Urjorahn," Llether said after he greeted the two, "And I have some, uh, bad news for you, Khajiit."

Urjorahn made a startled face.

"Velar, my thrice damned uncle, Boethia take him, is your ancestor. That is a complicated story, Urjorahn."

"Khajiit does not understand how screwed up one might be, being a Dunmer, to impregnate a Khajiit, hmm? Perhaps a more romantic backstory might appeal to Urjorahn."

"For now, this is not as important as putting an end to this plague. Velar, the Defiler, he made a pact with the Daedra Prince. Quite a feat, considering that this prince is Hermaeus Mora. Forbidden knowledge is what attracted Velar all his life, and, as you may have seen, beyond death. Velar cheated death itself, by gaining immortality like that of a Daedra. He shaped a rugged, twisted plane within the waters of Oblivion, that's where he and his minions feast upon the souls of the chosen. And you are next."

Urjorahn made a strange sound in his throat.

"I guess you can use every tool at your disposal, Urjorahn. Perhaps I can show you a thing or two about Shadow Magic, huh?" Llether smiled.

Urjorahn proved to be a very able student, as the art of bending shadows to one's will is no easy task, given that the power of Shadow Magic could rival the capabilities of the Elder Scrolls themselves.

"Stepping through shadows is so far the easiest practice," Llether said, as he translocated from one corner of the chamber to the other in a shadowy portal, "You must understand what flows beyond the place you want to go, inhale it, and send your soul through a barrier that is Mundus. Perceive the shadows. If you can make it once, it'll be a matter of time before this practice will become routine. Understanding of how these shadows work is, however, difficult, but if you're willing to learn, this obstacle shall be no more. Our next lesson is Shadow Siphoning, a practice similar to translocation, but here, a foe's lifeforce acts as the target instead of the place, when you feel it flowing through one's veins, when you feel the soul's power pumping the magicka. Feel your own. "Pierce" the target open and drain the lifeforce. It takes a lot of concentration, you see. Shadows are not merely an absence of light, they are reflections from a different realm, an alternate world. To understand that connection means to understand Shadow Magic."


	6. Dark Waters' Game

_The sixth chapter in the series, and this is where the action is about to begin. Along with the knowledge of The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, one must also know what TES IV: Oblivion is about from now on._

_I hope you'll enjoy!_

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**Songs of Cinder, Book VI: Dark Waters' Game**

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The Dro-m'Athra never slept.

The Dro-m'Athra never stood still.

Urjorahn tried to get rid of the dark thoughts that haunted him throughout the morning. He was not afraid of sleeping anymore, even though the tranquil dreams shifted into a black realm, he was not afraid. Still, he kept a dagger under his pillow for unknown reasons. Perhaps a slightest trace of fear still remained within his soul. The daily Shadow Magic trainings were a true blessing to him; he had an experienced mentor willing to teach, unlike the arrogant wizard-lords of Sadrith Mora, and the very concept of percieving shadows like never before was more than appealing to him. But once the twin moons were watching over Veleth Ancestral Tomb, he felt a strange whiffing of alien power within himself more than he did during the day. He felt numbing swirls of unknown nature go through his veins, it drove him mad. He didn't know what it was.

The shadowmage, Llether Veleth, was an outstanding tutor indeed. An elderly mage, with his eyes showing his experience in major battles, his secluded life in the shadows' embrace, and under the hand of House Telvanni. But among these traits, his eyes also showed a feature rare for a Dunmer: kindness. It may prove to be true that eyes are the mirror of soul, as old Llether was as kind as a parent is to the newborn child. And Llether was just like a father figure to the two, as their bond was strengthening with every moment.

"Now, it seems you are getting close to mastering Shadow Siphoning, son," Llether said, as he was checking Urjorahn's capability to drain lifeforce. The Khajiit liked it when the old Veleth called him "son", it made Urjorahn feel needed, a part of the family, "Remember, this, along with Shadow Step, is a most important spell in the nightblade's repertoire."

"Family". This word seemed to be so unfamiliar to Urjorahn, he never really knew what a family is. He hardly remembered his own, yet Llether's kind look gave him an impression and birthed warmness in his heart.

Yen was sharpening his mace on the grindstone he made by the tower's entrance, whistling and tottering as the sparks flew in every direction. The morning was beyond wonderful for the Ashlands, as little ash rained from the hole above their tower, the sun shone brightly through it. Llether was resting on a hammock he weaved a few days ago, reading one of the dusty books found at the tower's library. The hammock did not look tough, but still was a greater place to rest fot the shadowmage than the beds in the small chamber underneath the tower. Urjorahn kept practicing stepping through shadows, an incantation that seemed to be nearly impossible for the young apprentice to cast properly, as the shadowy portal pushed him back to the platform from whence he stepped. The Khajiit was either sent flying just below the chamber's ceiling or ended up being pushed against one of the walls, his magicka ran dry, and his back was full of bruises. Urjorahn was like a jester to Yen, who laughed at his failed attempts as always. The Dunmer, however, admired his singleness of purpose that rewarded Urjorahn with sharpened skills of a seasoned adventurer, a trait he noticed when clashing blades with the Khajiit during swordsmanship training and a competitive guar ride.

A brigade of mounted well-armored soldiers was slowly striding along the road, separating into parts that went through the mushroom forest on both sides, carefully bypassing the roots that grew on the ground and arched above the road. This was not merely another sellsword party, but a private squad of Tedryn Brenur, who trotted in the middle of the road, Fadril and Dalamus watching his back. The night skies turned red before they could reach Sadrith Mora, the stars were hardly seen through the eldritch layer of red mist and devilish clouds. Thunder raged, as the town's citizens were getting worried and terrified, leaving their houses to see what was going on. Word travels fast, the messenger brought bad news to Tel Naga. The squad entered Sadrith Mora, eerie sounds started echoing in the air.

"Wh-what is going on?" Dalamus asked, staring at the red sky.

"Ill Omen," Tedryn whispered, his voice soon changing to a shout, "Everybody, inside the houses! Now!"

Tel Naga's very top was soon covered in shadows, as the squad saw what resembled a scary hand of black smoke raising above the tower. Wizard-lords left Tel Naga, their books open and ready for incantations. The echoes intensified, and the wide square started shimmering and blurring before a cat eye-like fiery portal emerged from thin air, a reflection in it being a hellish and shadowy realm. The whole mushroom tree of Tel Naga collapsed before Tedryn's eyes, roots falling on houses next to the marketplace, uplifting a barrier of dust that concealed the destroyed quarter.

The Oblivion Gates.

Spikes protruded from the ground, their tips bloody. People started screaming and ran in every direction away from the gates, and the town guards threw scabbards away, raising their bonemold shields high and forming before the portal. Terrible spawn poured out from the gate, distorted voices yelling "Master Dagon". A mighty clash of blades, the light of fire spells were among Tedryn and his squad, blinded with rage and advancing towards the hordes of Daedra, before Tedryn delivered a thrust to the Dremora Churl and evaded his swing, leaping into the fiery portal. Dalamus immediately sprinted to his master, about to jump in the Deadlands, but he was stopped by Fadril, who pointed at the Dremora burning the Gateway Inn to the ground, triggering a chain of flames that ran from one house to the other.

"Tedryn won't make it," Fadril said.

Urjorahn woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, as the thunder reached the Ancestral Tomb. The headache tormented him. The Dro-m'Athra never slept. The Khajiit washed himself in cold water, trying to freeze the pain, but it was only becoming stronger until it made Urjorahn kneel down and hold his head. Yen and Llether were woken by the Khajiit's screams, accompanied by a loud thunder. They noticed the sky turn red through a hole above the tower, and the ruined chamber was getting darker, giving the impression that the Red Mountain itself was slumbering no more. The trio climbed the ashen hills near the tomb's entrance and hid behind the stone obelisk to witness a reddish explosion where Ald'ruhn should be. Another Oblivion Gate opened its jaws in the middle of the town, instilling fear in Ald'ruhn's citizens and sending armies of Daedra to pillage every single building. Then, they saw a blast of magicka near the gate, larger than the gate itself. Shells that the whole town was composed of started to tremble before another blast followed, this time barely seen as the columns of smoke were ascending from every part of Ald'ruhn. A mighty Emperor Crab emerged, even more terrifying than the Oblivion Gate, and stroke the portal with its shell. The vision became blurry, as two more gates opened up around the doomed town, their light illuminating the dark skies. Waves of smoke, dust and ash raised above, the burnt trees fell one by one, and Ald'ruhn was not seen anymore.

"What in blazes is that?!" Yen asked, terrified by the sight of a whole city being devastated.

"The Slavemasters arrive to claim this cursed land, tired of watching," Urjorahn replied, still staring at the scene without blinking, "The song of destruction has its first verse sung this night, the two moons dance no more, a shroud of darkness closes the mortal realm. The border between worlds is weakened, and the dark waters are seeping through a crack in the invisible wall."

Llether did not say a word.

"The Dro-m'Athra come closer to a refrain."

3E 433. The Dragonfires went out, marking the beginning of a very last event of the whole era.

The Oblivion Crisis.


	7. Embrace of Ashmires

_The seventh chapter in the series. I still hope you enjoy the story, and thank you for the feedback!_

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**Songs of Cinder, Book VII: Embrace of Ashmires**

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Tedryn lay bloody on the dark floor, Bloodgrass slowly interweaving his cracked cuirass. He spent only a couple of minutes in the Deadlands, but it felt like a damned eternity to him. A pack of Dremora slowly surrounded the ill-fated Dunmer, with the Markynaz approaching him, ready to loot yet another victim of Mehrunes' clutches. Tedryn attempted to raise a hand, hoping to say his last words as his vision was becoming blurry and blinded by his own blood splatters. A thrust of a blade - and the pain paralyzed him, as he saw his own bloodied sword sticking out of his abdomen. He closed his eyes and made a deep breath.

"Ah, we do love playing with you mortals," a distorted voice said, before the half-dead Tedryn heard the footsteps. Another Dremora approached the Markynaz, who watched his prey's last movements.

"A second chance, perhaps?" the lesser Dremora asked.

"You have an insatiable desire for challenge rushing through your veins," Markynaz replied, chuckling, "A second chance seems to be a nice idea if you want to test your mettle. He might fight back once more, give birth to admiration in your soul as a clever rabbit does in a huntsman's one. Otherwise, he will die like a Churl."

"Fall into servitude of the Lord..."

"Later. For now, he may enjoy his second chance. Perhaps."

The trio surfed through the lands, riding towards Sadrith Mora in hopes to find a single intact structure on the way. A few farmhouses were not destroyed by a quick and unforgiving invasion, but the residents were too afraid to speak, only briefly mentioning hordes of Daedra being conjured around the neighborhood. When they finally reached Sadrith Mora, they were amazed by the sight before their eyes: the burnt fungus hardly took after Gateway Inn, the road was pierced by the spikes, and a thin black cloud was hovering above the desolate town. Tel Naga was just a pile of roots, and one would not believe there once was a magnificent Telvanni tower. The charred gate could not withstand a breeze, and fell, opening the passage for the three. Inside, corpses lay on the ground, on the broken rooftops, hung on the roots and by the walls. The dark red soil was sodden with blood. Tel Naga's collapsed stems blocked the road through a ruinous marketplace; the road to the right was clear enough, and Urjorahn went that way, hoping to at least find their house. They witnessed the sight of the nearby Wolverine Hall's watchtower dilapidating, the stones falling on the derelict Imperial buildings. The smoke from the tall columns made it harder to breathe, but they managed to inhale some fresh air coming from the coastal winds. Their home was, not surprisingly, destroyed like the rest of the buildings.

"Hummingtop Manor..." Yen sniffed.

"When did this one name the shack?" Urjorahn did not look upset about losing the house as much as Yen did, "Hummingtop? But why? Why?"

"It was a nice name for a house like this," the Dunmer replied, "Now, we lost all our money, it was in the basement-"

"You didn't move the gold to the tomb?! The Khajiit told you, over and over. Five. Times. One, two, three, four, five! Go clear the rubble, or we'll die with no pleasant ringing in our pockets!"

"Hold on," Llether said calmly, "House Redoran. Their warriors may be the last beacon of hope for Morrowind. We can join their ranks and try to drive off the Daedra."

"Redoran? Them honorable warrior types? What's up with Hlaalu, hmm?" the Khajiit raised his brows.

"Hlaalu is most likely to be dying off. The Empire, whom they welcomed, left them like traitors, to defend their beloved Cyrodiil." Llether looked around, "Can't blame them though, I heard they were hit harder than us."

The trio saw a couple of silhouettes behind the wall of smoke, clad in Bonemold by the looks of them, one pulling his wounded companion.

"Survivors?" Yen gasped.

The two Dunmer emerged from the smoke, the wounded one's cuirass missed one of the pauldrons while the second was mostly unscathed but drenched in blood. They came a bit closer to the trio, but then stopped, the wounded one pulled off his helm and glanced at Urjorahn.

"T-th-the c-cat!" he mumbled.

"Quiet, s'wit!" the second one said, "You. Who are you?"

"We are, uh, bards, traveling musicians from, err, Mournhold." Urjorahn replied, smiling and pointing at his drum, which rested on Limp's saddle.

"You bards picked a bad time to arrive on thrice cursed Vvardenfell. I don't believe you."

"Then why should you ask? We don't look like bards, obviously, n'wah." Yen uttered in anger, his hand about to grip his mace, "You expect help? Or you are here to ask your stupid questions?"

"Easy, easy," the Dunmer grinned, "Twin Lamp."

Yen's facial expression quickly turned into a surprised one.

"D-Da-Dalamus..." the wounded Dunmer coughed.

"Dalamus?" Urjorahn unsheathed his blade, "You? You? Dalamus? That Dalamus Moloth fellow?"

Dalamus sighed.

"G-get him-m..." Fadril whispered.

"Fadril! You guy must be Fadril, hmm? Poor old Dalamus cannot venture outside without his lovely brother, eh?"

"What are you talking about, you mad Khajiit?" Yen asked, still surprised.

"After Urjorahn's tail, hmm, huh? Huh? Oww..." the Khajiit looked over his shoulder.

"C-come on-n, D-Dalam-mus-s..."

"Please, be civil," Llether, who remained silent until this time, said.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Dalamus spitted, "Cat."

"Explain what happened here, Dalamus," Llether made a step forward, "You tell us what in Oblivion was that, and we help Fadril."

"Try talking sense into these, the wind cannot crack a rock. The Khajiit may settle with mortals' hash no worse than Merrunz," Urjorahn hissed.

"There is absolutely no need in such petty arguments, especially when we stand before a greater threat than you can imagine."

"I agree with the mage," Dalamus replied, "Tedryn is dead, Fadril. His goal was meaningless. His instructions cruel. We should move on. We just arrived in town when the ruckus started. The sky turned red, people trembled in fear of the... unknown. That was before armies of Daedra were summoned from a gate of sorts. They destroyed and killed everything and everyone on their path. Tedryn hopped into the fiery gate. Fadril was severely injured. I barely made it out alive after the Telvanni closed shut the damn portal. Daedra! I wonder what's next?"

"Dragons?" Urjorahn raised his ears and shrugged.

"Nonsense, son," Llether replied, "We should team up and head to Ald'ruhn. If there are any survivors, we'll help with anything we can."

"You sound like you face the Daedric Forces of Destruction every day, old pal," Yen stated.

"I have seen things worse than that."

The guar carriage now housed a small party of five adventurers, willing to defend their homeland no matter what. This time, Dalamus drove the wagon; Yen healed the heavily breathing Fadril, Llether watched the back of the cart, while Urjorahn was playing the drums, looking around in case the party stumbles upon an Oblivion Gate. Fortunately, no Gates were on their way to Ald'ruhn, only the aggressive Kwama near the abandoned egg mines dotting the landscape along the road. The countryside felt empty to the travelers; Morrowind, a province with a hard past of nearly endless turmoil, now invaded by the trouble from beyond. True, it seemed to be a curse. The wagon occasionally came across the bent signposts, ruins of the Temple's sites, with empty Gates in a shape of an "Oht" standing on them, Ancestral Tombs with their front doors open, and the corpses of those unlucky enough to cross blades with the invaders. Waning Secunda appeared in the sky by the time they reached the ash wastes. Urjorahn stretched himself and yawned, before a red light distracted him. A portal, the same portal in the shape of an "Oht", the Oblivion Gate, just a few metres away from their wagon. The Khajiit shoved Yen and Llether and pointed at the Gate, which was sending a unit of Xivilai to patrol the empty Ashlands. Dalamus turned the guar and slowly rode towards the Xivilai, giving a sign to the others to prepare for a battle. Suddenly, the Gate started to tremble, and a well-armed Dunmer emerged from the fiery portal, accompanied by an Imperial girl in black robes and a dozen of Redoran soldiers, as the Gate exploded in the same red light, leaving only the ruins behind. The Redoran army charged into battle, slaying Xivilai with ease as the Daedra did not expect an attack from behind, when the party jumped out of the wagon and into the blaze, another Oblivion Gate opening right behind them. Dremora fell out of the Gate, advancing to deliver an unexpected strike as the Redoran soldiers did. The dark night sky was illuminated by the light of the Gate, the gouts and streams of flames that flew in every direction, and the blasts of magicka. Several Xivilai met their end at the tip of Urjorahn's bloodstained shortsword, as he was overwhelmed with thoughts of fighting in the midst of carnage and the feeling of a bond between him and the unholy assailants. The ensued fight raised swirls of dust and ash that was fluttering with every strike of a blade and the fall of defeated combatants. The Redoran lost nearly half of its troops, but in the end, the mortals finished the battle victorious, yet weakened. The Dunmer, who turned out to be one of the Redoran Masters, lowered his sword arm and placed his once shiny shield on his back, about to greet and grate those who aided him in battle.

"We owe you a drink, huh?" the Master smiled, "Hlormaren Redoran, at your service. Your element of surprise and little remorse for the foul creatures are impressive."

"I'm Callonia," the Imperial lass said, before reaching out to Hlormaren and pointing at House Telvanni's crest on the Khajiit's scarf.

"Telvanni, eh? Your House decided to stay away from the troubles of its own homeland. Hlaalu is weak, and the whole burden is on our shoulders."

"Affairs of Telvanni have nothing to do with our own concerns," Llether exclaimed.

"We're going to need building up quite an army if we are to stop Mehrunes Dagon, now," Dalamus added, handing an open, half-empty bottle of sujamma to his wounded brother.

"Ald'ruhn still stands," Callonia replied, "There, the last unit of our House is situated. A few more volunteers signed up to defend Vvardenfell. From there, we will travel south to Balmora. I hope it is not sacked yet."

Now, the number of travelers increased to ten, united by a single purpose: to drive out the Daedra. Urjorahn, Yen and Llether were now part of something bigger than they could have imagined, as the fate of the District was in their hands. As they wage war against the Prince of Destruction, Velar casts his soul snare and strenghtens himself while slumbering in the dark waters of his realm, waiting for a perfect time to strike.

The party set up camp by the road just north of Balmora at the early break of dawn that shone upon the town's watchtowers, seen behind the hills. The Redoran soldiers took the roles of guards, interchanging every couple of hours while everyone slept in the tents. Everyone except Fadril and Dalamus.

"Ever wondered what happened to Brenur plantation?" Fadril asked, easing the pain with a cup of sujamma.

"Burned to the ground? Abandoned? Overrun by the Argonian slaves? Who knows."

"I agree with your opinion about Tedryn, but his goal had a meaning nonetheless. Remember about the tailless one."

Sunlight broke through the tent's fabric, and the brothers' faces were not shrouded anymore.

"Tedryn only wished to get rid of him... The tailless is a nuisance, he said..." Dalamus replied.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I have a strange feeling about the sod. Like his presence on Vvardenfell is no mere coincidence, you know. And the words of Tedryn... Thinking about who the cat is gives me the chills!"

"Hate to admit, but I'm glad the slippery bastard is finally dead. High time to cut our connections with, err, friends from Camonna Tong. They are as nasty as Brenur."

"I always wanted to live a more peaceful life as a stablemaster. Tending the steeds, that sort of thing."

"Well, I look for something more... fascinating!" Fadril laughed, "Something that makes one's blood boil is my thing for sure! By the way, Dalamus?"

The Dunmer turned his head to him, sleepy and gaping.

"What about the tailless? Should we, you know, uh, tell him about that crap?"

"We should."


	8. Tongue and Dagger

_The eighth chapter in the series. I hope you enjoy the story and plot so far. Please tell me what you think!_

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**Songs of Cinder, Book VIII: Tongue and Dagger**

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"So, Tailless!" Yen said to Urjorahn, as they were sitting by the bar in the newly built Three Kagouti Cornerclub of Balmora, "Have you heard of the tale of Red Jinx?"

"Red Jinx?" the Khajiit replied.

"The one with a necromancer and his ring? You told it about, err, two days ago! Thin story! Better pass me that mug." Fadril said, leaning on his stool between the two.

"I told you. It's time for Urjorahn to listen," Yen handed a tankard to Fadril and ensconced himself cosily, "So, Red Jinx. There once was a powerful necromancer by the name of Zayah Celog."

"Zayah? Quite an unusual name for... Nevermind." Urjorahn grinned, "This one may proceed."

"Rumor has it that the necromancer was actually named after a letter Xayah in the Daedric alphabet. It is unknown whether the letter was changed to Z for an obscure reason, or simply it wasn't really related to the script. Zayah developed the character of a bastard as early as ten years old. He was traitorous and... unfriendly, to say the least. His love for the Black Arts was clear at that time; his mother once found the King of Worms' books under Zayah's bed. By the time he grew up, he left his village and fled to a coven of necromancers. There he met Jyrenn-"

"Jyrenn? Another unusual name. Is this one sure he tells things right? Ah... Sorry."

"So, Jyrenn was one of the practitioners. They were bitter rivals, but once Zayah became a leader of the vermin, he made sure that Jyrenn becomes his right hand, as Zayah thought that he is the only one worthy of the job. The necromancers were being slaughtered, uh, sacrificed to Zayah, who used their souls merely to enchant his ring. The hungry n'wah then found a Daedra's heart - and tried to replace his own with it."

"This is getting ridiculous," Fadril interrupted Yen, who was already quite consumed by the story, "That's not what you told me!"

"I bethought. Uh, so, when Zayah tried to do that, Jyrenn and the few remaining necromancers revolted, fearing that the tyrant might become unstoppable. They raised an army of dead, but alas, Zayah cast a dark shield around himself, using the enchanted ring, the Red Jinx. It drained the revolted's lifeforce, and soon Jyrenn was the only one left standing. Zayah failed, and his soul was imprisoned within Red Jinx."

"And Jyrenn?" Urjorahn asked.

"Probably died sometime after that. And the ring is lost." Yen replied, placing a can of greef on the table before Hlormaren approached.

"So far, no signs of Daedra," the Redoran said, "We split up. Callonia and I are going to be on the lookout on the western part of Balmora. You five will stay here and watch for any suspicious activity. If Mehrunes steps in town, we'll be ready to kick his Daedric arse."

The Three Kagouti Cornerclub was unusually peaceful, making one think that problems like Oblivion Crisis never crossed its doorway. This was also true for the rest of Balmora; while weakened by the Empire's withdrawal, House Hlaalu's trade seemed to thrive, and life in the town was flowing as always, busy streets and happy merchants, still unaware of the invasion. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and the midday sun got rid of all the shadows of Balmora's walkways. Urjorahn believed it was just a lull before the storm. His thoughts switched from the threat of Oblivion to a yet invisible one: Velar Veleth. Tedryn's manor was only a few quarters away from the cornerclub, and an unfamiliar banner hung above the front door. Urjorahn picked the lock and broke in. The main hall was as well-decorated as his villa in Brenur plantation, Tedryn was a sophisticated Dunmer indeed. The bedchambers upstairs, however, could only boast of a few dusty crates and a lonely dim lantern reeling above them. Everything was hardly suspicious in and around the manor, and the Khajiit went down to the basement. A room, with its walls being half-broken by the invading cavern nearby, was before him. Urjorahn proceeded to a hallway that led to a slightly bigger and cleaner room, with nothing of particular interest except a chest opposite of the coridor. He opened the chest to witness pieces of paper fuzz across the room, the pieces he used to scribble with Daedric outlines in his cell. Tedryn knew everything.

Urjorahn heard the footsteps behind him; someone was coming close to the Khajiit, not even trying to be silent, as if the owner himself came to find a thief.

"You're trespassing here," Urjorahn recognised a familiar voice. He turned around to see Dalamus.

"This one must know what the whole shadowy game is about, hmm? Khajiit is ready for answers he already came to know."

"Not yet," Dalamus replied, "This is Camonna Tong territory, cat. Several of their agents are outside the manor on the rooftops. I was asked to seek you out."

"So, Urjorahn once found himself and the path he has to follow, and now yet another obstacle stands on his way. The Khajiit has no business with those who enslave the innocent."

"Look, Fadril and I, we want to cut ties with the damned syndicate. Everything comes with a price. You dig in their turf, and the xenophobes have a dirty job for you..." Dalamus continued, "If you do this, we are free from Camonna Tong and are no longer considered a scum, a blight upon Morrowind."

"Hmm?"

"It is quite simple. You will need to kill someone. Show yourself as an assassin. But there is a trick."

"Uh huh?" the Khajiit was getting more and more interested, "Murder is Morag Tong's territory, no?"

"This is something that must be done without their involvement. The target is... Hlormaren Redoran," Dalamus said to startled Urjorahn, "Ever since we arrived, Hlormaren has been patrolling the streets, making it hard for Camonna Tong to operate. They say he should be eliminated..."

"Urjorahn feels the air of treason swirl between us as we speak."

"It is... the only way."

"This one may sleep peacefully," Urjorahn sighed.

"Please, do it discreet."

The following day was spent in Urjorahn's armor training, as Yen showed him some tricks that made it easier to move, turn without losing balance, make little noise when landing after a jump or a fall, and sprint without feeling over-encumbered. The Khajiit got himself a new shining set of finely-crafted ebony ringmail, plated with thin metal parts and chained with small rings. Made by Hlormaren's request to forge a light armor durable enough to withstand a few blows, while still looking expensive and elven in style, the set came with an ebony shortsword of common design in the Third Era. The armor was still a bit heavy for Urjorahn, who got used to being light on his feet, but he could swing his new sharp blade with relative ease. The whole day of training was worth it; drenched in sweat, Urjorahn was not feeling the burden of plates as much as earlier that day, but the pauldrons were still unaccustomed to him. Yen was maneuvering in the armor like an old pro, making it seem like he was unarmored all this time.

"I wish I could fancy myself the blade as lovely as yours, ha!" Yen said to the tired but happy Khajiit, slowly loosening the Netch leather belts before taking the cuirass off, "The Three Kagouti is an outstanding cornerclub indeed! You should come and see the chambers we rented today. I promise, you'll like it!"

Urjorahn smiled and nodded instead, as if saying he'll come check the rooms later.

Night fell in Balmora. Urjorahn's room was empty. The grief-stricken Khajiit was sitting on the cornerclub's roof, a black cowl concealing the upper half of his face, his white eyes shining through the cowl's shadow. He carefully examined the western district from afar, memorizing every light source and the guardsmen's patrolling routes. He could not bear the thought that he had to stab Hlormaren with his own generous gift to Urjorahn, surfing through the shadows of his room in the armor he was given as per Redoran Master's request. It was a shame. Urjorahn whetted his whistle with a sip of sujamma. He has to do it, he must. The Khajiit stepped into shadows, translocating under Balmora's stone bridge right above the flowing river. He bypassed the guard, steering away from the lanterns on the wide street before stepping from a shadow of the western cornerclub's patio area. Hlormaren's window was just above the nightblade; he climbed on a plank to the right of the window and extinguished the lantern that hanged on the plank. He carefully opened the window and slipped inside Hlormaren's room, sticking to a shadow near the bed where he peacefully slept, before Urjorahn noticed a shadowy figure approach the Master in haste. The Khajiit rolled closer to the competitor, and he appeared to be in some red robes. The assailant was about to deliver a stab to Hlormaren, but Urjorahn stopped him, blocking and bashing with his short blade. The Dunmer woke up to witness shadows battle each other a few steps away from his bed, and the robed one cast a silence spell on the nightblade, the light revealing the assailant's red robes with a strange crest of what appeared to be a rising sun. The Khajiit charged, and the robed assassin retreated, jumping out of the window as inhuman whispers started echoing in the sky, accompanied by thunder.

"By Azura, who are you?" Hlormaren asked. The shadow approached him and took off the cowl.

"Khajiit is glad by the sudden twist in this one's fate, it may decide the outcome of this night," Urjorahn replied, "I was sent to murder you, but it seems the Dro-m'Athra themselves would not want Urjorahn to make such a mistake. Now, get your apparels on, mortal. You won't fight naked, will you?"

"Kill me?"

"A long story. Now this one must be quick and rub his red eyes if the mortal wants to hear it," Urjorahn pointed at the night sky, as waves of red glowing mist invaded the once bright stars, guiding the black clouds above Balmora.

"Gods... Oblivion Gate... Wh-where is Callonia?"

"The Dro-m'Athra wish to play a new game with mortals, it seems. They even brought a larger doorway."

Urjorahn rushed to Three Kagouti with a surprised Hlormaren. The Great Gate, three times bigger than usual Oblivion Gates the group dealt with before, was raising havoc at Balmora's stone walls. As they ran, the citizens were looking out of their windows only to witness a terrific scene of demonic hordes setting the buildings on fire, killing the Hlaalu guardsmen with relative ease. There was no hope for the town's residents.

Yen woke up after a Dremora bursted in the party's chambers, he drew his sword and raised it, screamed "Dagon take you, weaklings!" and charged at the still sleepy Redoran soldiers before they could touch the hilts of their fine weapons. Yen quickly woke Llether, who was still asleep due to his room being farther than the rest. The spellsword managed to slip on his cuirass before the Dremora was able to deliver a strike; however, it was evaded, and Yen rushed out of his room. He saw Fadril and Dalamus fight the oncoming hordes of Daedroths and Dremora. Urjorahn and Hlormaren broke in, about to surround the Daedric forces. In a veil of red smoke, it was hard to navigate through the chamber, but Urjorahn made it to his room and opened the chest's lock in a hurry, before the door behind him closed itself along with the blinds of the room's only window, the cloak of utter blackness emerged from the shadows and swirled around the Khajiit. The room turned completely black. He turned, leaving the chest open, as the noises, the ringing of metal, the distorted and guttural screams and the thunder outside ceased. A red circular void appeared before Urjorahn, black hole-like circle at the center. An eclipse-like eye watched him.

"Urjorahn!" he heard Yen yelling at him, knocking at the door, and then the voice decreased in volume and could not be heard anymore.

"Well met, my future servant!" the voice echoed from the red void, "The test of your endurance is passed, the barrier between Tamriel and the Waters is merely... an obstacle now. Do you feel it?"

The Khajiit recognised a very familiar voice. Velar Veleth.

"I know you do!" Velar exclaimed, "You must feel the flow of the Waters themselves in your impure veins. I guess it was Molag Bal who blighted poor Eddves' son with the curse of impurity! Zahraji made a lethal mistake, making a bond between the pure Dunmer people and the beasts of southern jungles. Impure! You shall be my servant! I tried to gift you with power of Oblivion itself! I tried to cleanse your boon of petty mortality! None can deny the holy present of Daedric blood! I bought you from the Camonna Tong thugs, I knew you'd soon break free, I knew you'd be searching for answers, searching for me, I knew you'd come into the Ancestral Tomb... Hermaeus Mora's cursed High Seekers write the next verse of our fates, you know. I... gave you the gift of Daedric blood... For a reason."

The echoes were getting stronger, it felt like Mehrunes Dagon himself made his first step into Balmora. Llether was siphoning the Daedra's lifeforce in his mantle of shadows, after they are weakened by Yen's continuous restless blows. Fadril and Dalamus proved to be working flawlessly when paired, overwhelming Dremora in a complex sequence of alternate strikes from every direction. Hlormaren led his remaining soldiers towards the invaders, raising his shield high and holding it steady, being as strong as a wall of Imperial City. He withstood the Dremora's blows, deflecting every single hit, before he saw the figure clad in the same red robes. A Mythic Dawn agent himself graced the combatants with his presence opposite of Hlormaren. The Master bashed in rage and jumped off the balcony, landing a few feet closer to the cultist, who pulled off his hood, revealing Callonia's lovely face. Hlormaren lowered his hands.

"Callonia?..." he whispered.

"Acolyte Callonia." the agent replied drily.

"Bitch!" Dalamus charged towards the Mythic Dawn Acolyte before she raised her Daedric amulet with a carved Mehrunes' face. A reddish portal was conjured, and the Dremora Markynaz emerged from the arcane light, drawing his bloody claymore.

"You see? You are one with the Waters. You share a bond with the invaders!" Velar echoed, "You are no mere mortal!"

"This one finished his monologue already?" Urjorahn replied, gripping his shortsword.

"You deny... the truth! We'll see if you are stubborn enough to resist the power of the blood bond! Come, come and meet me at the Red Mountain! I'll be sure to welcome you with open arms and guide you through Foyada Padhome, my realm of arcane darkness and black waters. I will be waiting for you, Impure..." The void vanished, leaving a couple of black Daedra, the very same ones that the Khajiit saw at Veleth Ancestral Tomb. They unsheathed their war axes and advanced, as the shroud of blackness dissolved along with Velar's aspect.

"Xefhedle!" the Acolyte shouted to the Markynaz and pointed at Hlormaren. The Dunmer swinged his blade at Callonia's hand, and she lost grip of her locket, falling on the cold stone floor before Xefhedle was banished adrift to Oblivion.

The Daedra were about to gain the upper hand, when the roof of Three Kagouti Cornerclub started to tremble and collapsed, rubble falling on the warriors and breaking the walls and balconies. Acolyte Callonia stood up, holding her bloody hand, and got pushed by Fadril against the crumbing wall to her death, leaving only a scrap of Mythic Dawn robes above the rubble pile.

"Everybody! Outside! Now!" Llether shouted, as the party ran out of the cornerclub, "To the wagon, fast!"

Three Kagouti fell apart, and the scene of destroyed Balmora gave birth to melancholy in the group's hearts.

"S-so... It cannot be stopped..." Yen whispered.

"Where is-" Fadril did not finish his question, as he noticed the shadow sprinting towards the carriage, hopping into it. Urjorahn blew the dust off his cuirass and fell on his bedroll, his legs shaking.

"I guess you can explain why you were trying to murder me..." Hlormaren turned to the Khajiit.

"No, Urjorahn can't."

"It dosn't matter anymore," Dalamus said.

Balmora was lying in ruins by the morning, but the demoralised party was already far from the town. Fadril did not sleep; he watched the silent Urjorahn stare at the stars. The Dunmer carefully moved closer to him, shoving him and handing over Tedryn's journal. Urjorahn skimmed through the pages - the outlines, the letters, those he kept scribbling.

"Tedryn, he was afraid, you know," Fadril said with a slight hint of hesitation, "These writings, they... They are an incantation to banish Daedra. And... and you are..."

"One with the Waters. Urjorahn can't resist the bond of blood," the Khajiit replied drily, yet sadness could be heard in his voice, "I am one of the dark spirits. The Dro-m'Athra."


	9. Blood Binding

_Chapter IX is up, I'm trying my best as the end of Tome One is only one Book away. Keep in mind that English is not my native language._

_I hope you enjoy! Reviews are welcome!_

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**Songs of Cinder, Book IX: Blood Binding**

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Molag Bal's Summoning Day. It was 20th of Evening Star, and Urjorahn felt that this day was somewhat special to him. True, the connection to the King of Impurity in the House of Troubles was quite obvious. Especially now, when he is considered Impure.

Urjorahn remained silent the whole trip. The Veleth family lived a normal life once, their purity not yet ruined before his father's decision. A father he knew nothing about, and a mother whose facial traits were only partially in his memory. The Khajiit had his face covered with a cowl, to prevent the sunlight from interrupting his melancholic thoughts. Perhaps he should leave the party for the hidden twisted covens of Molag Amur's mutants, he thought. He held Xefhedle's Locket, an amulet he managed to rip off Callonia, and the bond was getting only stronger until he closed his eyes and made a very deep breath. The thoughts did not leave his head.

He was one of them.

He always felt like his own soul did not belong to him, yet was incredibly familiar and inborn at the same time. The overwhelming storm of thoughts ravaged Urjorahn, and he had no choice but to answer the Blood Binding's call and have his life put to an end in Velar's grasp.

The evening's weather was a very fair one for the lands so close to the Red Mountain. Hlormaren, now left without a once loyal companion, dismissed the party and led his remaining Redoran soldiers up north, towards the stronghold of Kogoruhn. The Oblivion Crisis only echoed across the land, rumor had it that the only heir of Septim bloodline allied with an unknown champion to stop the invasion, and the Dunmer lands seemed to be calm again, but in ruins. The wagon of five adventurers rode across the ash wastes once more, this time the Red Mountain was directly in front of Yen, who became quite fond of driving the carriage. Nothing except the stone obelisks and burnt trees adorned the barren landscape before the wagon stumbled upon a pillar with a shield on top. The signpost pointed at the lonely inn just a few metres away from them, behind the stone obelisk not far from the road. The wagon approached the inn, another round shield was hanging on a plank by the entrance, a crest and the "Blind Dwarf Tavern" adorning the shield's center. Fadril was the first to enter the tavern; the building itself was built in a distinctive Imperial style, so was the interior, well-decorated with banners of the Empire and looking refurbished no more than a day ago. A large Dwemer warhammer was placed on a plaque above the fireplace. Yen and Llether sat by the fireplace.

"I wonder what happened to Tailless," Yen said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"I feel this is Velar's work," Llether replied, as Dalamus watched Fadril dance to the bard's "Tyrone the Wall", "I'm sure you must have heard the n'wah's voice in Urjorahn's room. The mongrel is damn likely to have told him something unpleasant."

"He hasn't spoken in days."

"I'll go talk to him," Llether stood up and went towards the exit before a few armored men walked past the shadowmage, taking suspicious glances at him.

The Khajiit sat in the wagon just outside the Blind Dwarf, his cowl on. The shadowmage leaned on the wagon and let loose the belts fastened on the guar, setting them free. He reached out to Urjorahn, whose eyes were closed, and Llether could notice a single little tear drop.

"Hey, son," the old Veleth said.

"It's the void..." Urjorahn whispered, "Ethereal hands grip my soul and drag, drag, drag it towards the waters to have it drowned. The bridge, it is above the waters' flow, it whispers of eternal freedom beyond the black stream in exchange of a few drops of Khajiit blood. The blood of the Dro-m'Athra."

"It's Velar... He must be summoning you to his twisted realm. Just keep strong, son, it is likely to be a trap," Llether said, "Velar is a traitorous s'wit, a scum that will eat you alive and only leave the bones," the Dunmer rubbed his eyes and took out the mantled black robe and a few scrolls from his satchel, "If you intend to do it, we do it together. A daedric mage can easily withstand the five, but we still have a chance."

Llether handed the scrolls to Urjorahn, what the Khajiit saw were the incantations of Shadow Magic the old Veleth did not teach.

"The ward of shadows that reflects the killing blow, be it blade or spell," the Dunmer said, "And the wrath of Azra Nightwielder himself is at our disposal."

The masked men approached the bartender, whispering something to him before the latter snapped his fingers, gave a sign to the bard to stop his singing of "High Seekers' Poem" and pointed at Yen, Dalamus and Fadril. The men approached their table, one of them uncovered his face and sat on a stool near Dalamus, raising a dagger to his throat. The other ordered the bartender to lock the front door.

"Hlormaren is very well alive and still breathing, Dalamus," the thug said.

Yen was about to grip his mace when the brute stabbed from behind. Fadril managed to stand up and trip over the table, staggering the thug and the brute, before Yen knocked one of them down with a steady mace hit in the head. The three ran to the bartender, whipping up the key and bursting out.

"What in Oblivion?" Llether shouted.

"The Camonna Tong, they found us! Quick, I have an escape route planned!" Fadril replied in a heavy breath. The brothers hopped in the wagon, before Fadril shoved the shadowmage, "Where's Tailless?"

Llether looked around, only a few moments ago Urjorahn was sitting right beside him, and now the Khajiit disappeared with his scrolls, with no tracks to follow. Vanished instantly. Llether was surprised and amused at the same time; at least the Khajiit mastered stepping through shadows, a daunting task. He blinked and turned to the ash-belching volcano, and the thought of Urjorahn heading towards the ruins was conjured in his head. He hopped in the wagon, fastened the guar saddles and told Yen to ride to the Red Mountain. The guar recoiled in a second, accelerating with an unexpected haste, as the mounted silhouettes appeared behind the wagon, aiming their crossbows at the Dunmer brothers.

Urjorahn fell on his knees by an obelisk, ash cloaked his eyes while he was trying to rub them, and more reddish clouds spawned from the volcano's throat. The Ghostfence was behind, and the unrelenting wave of ash was right before the stone obelisk. Echoes persisted, he felt like the cursed Dagoth Ur himself was speaking to him, knocking him down with blasts of ash. He felt like the Blight was no more a myth within the Tribunal's magical border. Still, he advanced to the Red Mountain. Female whispers, resembling lost souls trapped within the cinder, haunted the Impure, switching to serene melodies playing both within and around Urjorahn. The sky was turning black, and the Khajiit squinted to see the bloodcursed void above the volcano's ashen plume. He was close to Velar's respite. Urjorahn knew it was a trap, but he could not resist the call despite his countless efforts. He drew his sword, caressed the blade and walked to the large Dwemer gates.

The wagon was riding faster with every minute, its wooden frame penetrated by bolts of the chasing Camonna Tong. The Ghostfence was closer and closer, shadows shrouding the skies, heralding Mehrunes' return. Yen's vision blurred, and he could barely see the road. The Ghostfence's guards noticed the oncoming trespassers, unsheathing their weapons as the dark veil covered the gate's upper towers. Ground started to tremble, the guar slowed down, afraid of the earthquake, letting the thugs reach the wagon's carcass and hop in. Dalamus and Fadril shielded the thug's swings in desperate attempts to bash him out of the carriage. The passage trembled, a fiery red light emerged from the rubble that blocked the path. Yen put spurs to the guar, and the wagon rode through the Ghostgate, which was collapsing right behind them before the Oblivion Gate was summoned where the passage was supposed to be. Unable to control their frightened steeds, the thugs sprinted right into the portal.

The cart was now beyond the destroyed Ghostgate, the fire behind and in front of the adventurers; there's no way they could leave this battle unmolested.

"So quiet, the ruins so untouched..." Urjorahn heard Velar's voice echo in the foggy Dwemer halls, so magnificent the Khajiit was feeling small. He sticked to the shadows.

"No need to hide, Impure," Velar whispered, yet his voice almost thundered, "Proceed. The halls stand empty, as they were since the Sixth House was banished."

Once the Khajiit stepped from the shadow of a nearby column, the massive metal door opened itself before his eyes. The flow of lava was melting the pipes beneath the bridge, spraying steam and flames that tried to scorch Urjorahn. The roof was starting to collapse, and the rubble fell into the lava, sending the immolating waves further and threatening the unstable stone bridge. Urjorahn sprinted to the large staircase, a gust of hot wind blowing the next door open and blurring the Khajiit's vision. He was only a few steps away from the Red Mountain's deadly crater. The sorcerer's echo followed the dwindling gust.

"You could feel more alive with a bit of... challenge!" Velar exclaimed, the red-black void opened its maw, forming yet another bridge, this time the otherworldly one. Black Daedra poured from the portal.

"Meet the Soul Servants, Impure. Blessed they be, for they guard my halls with no remorse for their foes. They are vessels, mindless husks for the souls trapped within."

Urjorahn jumped to the Soul Servant and pierced the vessel's throat; blood dripped from the Daedra, as he was ready to deliver another blow. The Khajiit vanished in the shadows, translocating to a ruined balcony above the portal, and pushed off the fence. It was better to save his stamina and magicka supplies for the sorcerer, he thought. Holding his breath, he ran up the stairs, before rushing outside through a round door, leading to a collapsed platform above the volcano's throat. Now, he was inside the Ash King's crown, dotted with Dwemer watchtowers. Urjorahn rubbed his eyes and blew the ash to see Velar in front of him, undead. The ashen lich in rotten garments resembling the robes of House Telvanni turned around and gripped his dagger, the fiery eye sockets staring at the Impure. He raised his hand and summoned forth the dark ghosts.

"Supreme Soul Servants. Those who withstand the maddening hunger for souls are gifted with great power!"

"This one is way too scared to fight himself, huh?" Urjorahn replied, "I came, the Blood Binding has called Urjorahn, the thrice cursed bond Fadomai itself placed within the Khajiit through the hands of an elusive mage. Now... I. Need. Answers." the Khajiit put his left hand behind his back and drew a scroll from his purse.

"Fine."

Velar appeared right behind the nightblade, and Urjorahn could feel the dagger thrust through his shoulder. He screamed in pain before pushing the lich aside, the scroll of animating shadows readied in his hand. Urjorahn advanced, growling in rage, raised his shortsword alost above his chest and delivered the mighty strike to Velar, before the Khajiit's shadow emerged near him and drained the undead's remaining lifeforce. Velar retreated to the tower adjacent to the platform in a red spherical portal of darkness.

"Impure! Hear my call!" Velar raised his both hands, "Answer my plea! New life awaits beyond the passage that lies before you! Your soul will be cleansed in the waters of Oblivion if you accept the eternal power through servitude! No more pain and suffering anymore, Urjorahn... The Paradise, a haven for your soul, is a few steps away..."

The nightblade stepped from the shadow cast by the dark clouds, "blinking" to the tower in a blast of black smoke, his blade swinging at the mage's neck from a veil of shadows. Velar, the blade stuck in his neck and his own blood flowing from an open wound, glanced at the one he crossed swords with and fell to his knees, screaming and dissolving to a reddish pile of ash.

"The last stand!" Velar echoed in the sky, as the Red Mountain started belching lava and ash upwards, "Dare to confront me where I'm the supreme? The Daedric Prince!"

The explosion blinded Urjorahn, who would then see the sorcerer's flaming remains and the passage to Velar's realm.

He took a deep breath, sheathed his blade and stepped into the black waters of Oblivion.


	10. End Game

_The last chapter of Songs of Cinder's first part is released. From now, I'll take a short break before writing any more. I thank all those who encouraged me to write more with their positive reviews._

_I hope you'll enjoy._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book X: End Game**

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The Amulet of Kings was shattered. The fiery wings of what everyone thought was Akatosh himself could be seen in the sky, Mehrunes' scream making its way to every corner of Tamriel. That was it, a new year of a new era was coming. No more Gates opening around the ashen wilderness, Morrowind was free at last, but the new problem was right before the Dunmer people; they had to rebuild the whole province as if they first set foot here. Luckily for the couple of fortune seekers, the local cornerclub of Gnisis, as well as the town itself, was mostly intact and ready to serve new customers. The travelers, one bearded Dunmer and the other younger lad, both hooded, entered the inn full of tipplers happy to know that Oblivion Crisis, a war that seemed to have no end, was done. Everything was just like before: the handy high-kick, singing bards and a smiling bartender.

"Here you stand... Right knee deep in the waters of Padhome..." the voice echoed. Urjorahn opened his eyes, his dream interrupted.

A terrifying sound that loosely resembled the rusty gate's opening followed the voice, and then, noises so outlandish it's impossible to even try to describe them. The red eclipse stared at Urjorahn from above, black towers dotted the rugged drifts of dark and bloody sand, swirls of black mist shrouded the dry trees and shrubs, and red clouds surrounded every tower's top, pierced by floating rocks of black stone. Nothing but the dim stars could be seen beyond them; the haunting air of the Void itself was squeezing Urjorahn's lungs. He was someplace alien. It was Velar's realm.

"The blood of Padomay himself flows in my veins, as it does around the islands of Darkness! My Impure Soul Servant, I shall bless you with my own blood, the Padomaic boon, a single drop and one feels... stronger than ever! Hear me, Velar Veleth the Daedric Prince!" the entire realm trembled as Urjorahn stood up and drew his sword, "No mere mortal you are, but still just a pawn in the Waters' game for power. This should be good - to draw upon the Waters' unholy potential and stand up against a Daedra prince or die trying! An epic battle outside the currents of Time!"

A dozen of Soul Servants emerged from their respites of black obelisks, commanded by a Supreme. Urjorahn inhaled and opened the scrolls, dropping them before him, and an aegis of shadows was summoned in front of the Daedra horde. The Khajiit skimmed through the second scroll, raised his hands and brought forth a blast. What Llether once said was true; the Azra's Wrath is what the incantation was. Urjorahn charged towards the Soul Servants, his sword held high. The black hand appeared from the sky and waved at the foul creatures, and they dissolved to ghostly ash before the Khajiit could deliver a blow.

"Playing with petty pawns! What could be more entertaining?" Velar's voice thundered, "It seems I know... Come a bit closer and I'll show you something..."

The Dunmer approached the bar and requested a few bottles of greef before one of them sat on the stool, preparing his tankard.

"So..." the bearded one said, "Glad to be the hero of Oblivion Crisis, eh?"

"Them youngsters bother me a bit," his companion chuckled.

"Ha! They compare you to Saint Jiub himself! Oh, teach me this, teach me that, they say."

"A hint of envy? Joker, I wish you could go back all the way to Blacklight from where you came from!" the younger adventurer replied, as both burst out laughing, "By the way, what is Blacklight like?"

"Beautiful, simply beautiful, lad. Now that's what I call a city! Too bad my urge to get arcane knowledge led me west, otherwise I could have just stayed there among the fine girls!" the bearded one giggled once more.

"Well, that whole crazy adventure of ours is a reward for leaving your hometown, uh? Remember all that we did back in... ha, back in Third Era!"

"Feels like a lifetime ago..." the Dunmer poured some greef in his mug, and the bartender leaned near the heroes, eager to hear to their fine story.

"So, I guess you want to know the whole thing, haha!" the younger smiled and told him the fascinating tale of their travels, "It was quite the adventure we had back in the day. Made new friends and... and lost the old ones."

"Losing anyone is always a great distress," the bartender placed a second bottle on the table and took his rag to rub it clean.

"Our old friend, he wasn't around for... Gods, more than five years!" the young Dunmer exclaimed, "We couldn't even bury him..."

"That's something the good old greef can't wash away," his bearded companion added.

"Well, it is a quite different story," the hero took off his hood and turned to his friend, "Tell him, Llether."

Urjorahn ran along the black stone road, past the obelisks, his satchel of scrolls almost empty along with the magicka pool. He perched on the tower's wall, Soul Servants and Dremora surrounding him.

"Mere minutes pass here as I watch you run away. You... surely don't want to know how much time passed on Mundus..." Velar whispered, "4th of Second Seed... A young boy had his tail cut off by a group of Khajiiti savages that call themselves a clan, his parents, ah, so brutally murdered by the Morag Tong. And all this mess... No, no, it's not Morrowind where this mess was. The town of Corinth, once a jewel of Elsweyr, now feared because of the... incident. Ah, Eddves got what was coming for him! To marry a cat! He left for House Hlaalu, which is now no longer a damned Great House, he cursed the Veleth bloodline by connecting it to the filthy beasts which were more of a nuisance than worthy allies! And they... they made you... You! A foul creature that was born a slave! Born a slave! Despite that curse, I hoped you'd overcome your twisted, ugly nature, but it seems you still deny the gift. Well, it's... time... to die! You left me with no other choice, so you'll walk these halls forever!"

Urjorahn sprinted faster, but he could feel the ground no more; he looked down only to see that an invisible force held him, clenching him until he set his teeth because of the terrible pain he was unable to resist. Velar, clad in red robes, slowly walked towards him from the tower's shadow, looking alive and young, a short black beard adorning his straight chin, wild hair shaved to resemble a mohawk.

"You'll surely enjoy your new home... Foyada Padhome, oh, such a beautiful place, is it not? The Ayleid king too foolish not to pledge his allegiance to the Waters met his untimely end here! At the place he nicknamed himself! Velar Ceysel, The Hall of Shadows, as he called it, ah, he thought he could tap the power of mine and leave unharmed... So stupid. So stupid..."

The adventurers' tale of their lost friend was interrupted when the earth's very bones trembled. The drunkards, once cheerful, hid beneath the wooden tables, praying in hopes of not getting attacked by an another group of Daedra. Yen looked at Llether, both surprised; it was not possible for Mehrunes Dagon to break the barrier and return. They went outside to see a wave of ash and debris ascend, blotting out the sun, as the fiery Red Mountain itself woke up after an ancient slumber. The earthquake devastated the town, and the two attempted to mount the terrified silt strider. Once finished, Yen rode north, the shaking ground hindered him. The people were running, afraid of the monster that they believed was going to emerge from the lava. Sky turned red once more. Yen and Llether shouted to everyone on their path to keep calm and search for a safe place to hide, trying to instill hope like it was possible to survive something even more dangerous than the Third Era's Crisis.

The eruption.

The village of Khuul, engulfed in chaos, could be seen from afar, and the storm of ash devoured everything on its path behind the two. Ten loaded ships awaited the departure, some captains untying the ropes before every refugee could climb aboard. People cowered and cried, Yen jumped out from the silt strider in a hurry before a beggar fell down to his knees.

"Im-imagine a thousand Oblivion Gates opening at the same time! That's w-what left after the dead-d Tribunal! Curse them!" he shouted.

"We need to hurry," Yen grappled the beggar's hand but the latter broke away.

"There is n-no hope for Morrowind... L-l-leave me here."

The two ran to the docks, and a rain of ash showered on the village, setting it on fire and killing the remaining refugees as they screamed and burned. Yen managed to hop into the vessel, but Llether did not; revealing a piece of broken wood sticking out of his belly, he waved to Yen and threw his satchel to the young Dunmer. The Twin Lamp noticed both sadness and relief in the shadowmage's eyes, his once new black robes were bloody and ragged. Yen waved to Llether, as he realised that he won't see the old Veleth again. The ship set sail to the barren island north of Vvardenfell, and the devastating cloud of ash covered the entire District, leaving those who did not manage to escape for the Red Mountain to feast upon.

Urjorahn screamed in agony, as Velar vanished in the void, his voice cutting through the Khajiit's ears. He fell on the cold black floor, holding his chest and the shortsword's hilt. His own blade was thrust deep in his heart.

"The game... is over... Impure..." he heard Velar's whisper surf through the whole plane, and then it became quieter until it was no more, "I... Banish you..."

The Khajiit's blood dripped on the floor, filling the cracks between the stones. The vision was getting darker and darker. Urjorahn made his last breath, creeped up to the black water and into it, his blood mixing up with the poison. He closed his eyes, his soul put to rest and eternal servitude, as his body drowned in the Waters, which embraced him and whispered, asking him to slumber peacefully. Then, only silence remained.

Yen woke up early in the morning, as he felt the ship's bottom touch the hard surface. Sailors dragged boxes and urns towards the ramp, the captain observed the ashen island from the mast. Yen took out his journal, an inkwell and an old quill, went downstairs, back to his cabin, and sat by the desk, putting his mace aside.

_"And we arrive,"_ he wrote, _"At last, a bit of peace and quiet so uncommon for the lands of Morrowind. The people around me are terrified as always, but for a reason; we stand before the dark future, and no one can say for sure what comes next. The empty island, Sols-thime or something like that, inhabited by creatures we know nothing about, and with no place to build upon. Folks say the once prosperous colony of Raven Rock was abandoned by the cowardly dogs of the East Empire Company, and we hope to rebuild there. It might take decades, hundreds of years to make this spurned island livable like before, but if we know what we fight for, if we know that we will once succeed, we will fight, even if we must live under the red sky for the rest of our lives. A struggle far more difficult than this is trying to cope with the loss of those whom I relied on. I wish Llether got a proper burial, I swear I will give his body to the fire. The same could not be said for... Urjorahn. Every time I gaze upon the night sky and the stars, memories of adventures we had ravage my head. The one who started this all, left us so early... At least his wish was granted, he did not die a slave. I feel like he's still talking to me, in the same insane manner. I feel he is still alive, and if I'm damn right, I'll save him from the deepest reaches of Oblivion no matter what. But now, all things must come to an end, as with my adventures and this log."_

Yen placed a signature below, and the last date.

4th of Second Seed, 4E 5.


	11. Beyond Time

_The new introductory chapter of Tome Two's up! I hope you'll enjoy the new tome, and reviews are welcome._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book XI: Beyond Time**

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A Dunmer elder refrained from continuing the penultimate chapter of his favourite book when he heard the clang of plates behind the door of his study. He perched on his walking stick and stood up, placing a bookmark on page sixty-nine; the heavy footsteps were heard louder, and the Dunmer opened the door to see a shadow on the stone wall, someone was going upstairs.

"Didn't even knock the door," the elder thought.

A moderately muscular Imperial lad ascended and approached the Dunmer. He was in a full suit of ebony, the chestpiece sporting ages-old designs and ornaments, and a round shield was resting on his back alongside the bastard sword. This was no common pilgrim seeking guidance from the well-respected elder.

"Greetings," the Cyrodiilic started, "It's an honor to speak with the hero Gatharian himself. Yet I'm here with a purpose different from those who usually visit your manor, sir."

"That so?" the elder replied, lifting his brow, "Pull up a seat, lad."

"Thanks. I was sent by Hlormaren Redoran. Normally, such matters should be addressed to the captain of the guard, but master Hlormaren asked to seek you out personally. He was unable to compose a letter and send it instead, given Morrowind's current dangerous state. So, here I am."

"A courier, huh?"

"Hlormaren Redoran's trusted lieutenant."

"I'm listening."

"Master Hlormaren reports that Vvardenfell, despite its unfriendly climate, seems to be overrun by the Argonian reavers. Ships from Blacklight sent to scout the District's coast were wrecked. Most of the city's denizens fear that the Red Mountain might belch ash once more, and many keep leaving for Skyrim. Master Hlormaren is about to retire because of the new and younger captain."

"B'vek, that's not pretty. However, Vvardenfell must not be a major concern nowadays, as greater problems lie ahead. There's no need to recapture a mostly uninhabitable island," the elder stated, handing a bottle of sujamma to the Imperial, an offer the lieutenant politely declined, "I'm sorry to hear of his untimely retirement. But, I will direct him to Modyn, see if we can establish a new post for Hlormaren right here. As for now, you are free, sera..."

"Seguri. Seguri Gratius."

"I bet there is an extra chamber in the Bulwark for old Hlormaren, and we might build more houses for his soldiers. Raven Rock is in dire need of reinforcements at the moment."

"I have a few weapons to add to your armory, specially enchanted at master Hlormaren's behest. I'm leaving tomorrow, so is there anything I must do before I depart?"

"Speak with Modyn, he can be found patrolling the streets. He is in charge of the guard here, and can provide you with all the details Hlormaren might find necessary. Also, there is a more... personal request."

"Hmm?"

"Here," the elder opened his dresser and handed a strange amulet to Seguri, "Give this to Hlormaren, he knows what this locket is. Just tell him that it's a reminder of the old days, and "true friends are always near" - he'll understand. And don't try to play with the damn thing - unless you want an ugly Dremora running around."

The Imperial took the amulet - a black metal bit with Mehrunes Dagon's face carved on it. He made an odd sound in his throat and nodded.

As Seguri left, the Dunmer went downstairs and washed himself before taking a stew of ash yams and heading back to his study. He put a plate on his end table and opened the book.

"Ha, watch where you're going, friend. To be an advisor for the master from the House of Redoran! Quite a feat, Yen," he grinned, speaking to himself, "Yen Gatharian, the hero of Oblivion Crisis, Bane of the Daedra, now a powerful ally of a Great House with more coin than you can spend!"

The endless ash drifts. They've been serving as barrows for the unlucky wanderers for hundreds of years, and now they are the only thing one can come across on the ill-fated District. Several ruins were intact enough to add to the overall miserable view of Vvardenfell, some debris still burning with a flame as alive as the day of the eruption. Near one of those debris was a row of charred pillars and a slanting tower that once used to be part of the Ghostfence. The cracks that formed on the bitter ground near the landmark were soon filled by an unnatural black liquid, as if the Red Mountain was crying tears of molten ebony. The burned path led to a crater of sorts, and upon closer inspection, one could safely state that this particular crater was not caused by perpetual ashfall. Someone lay in the very center, in the pose of an embryo, the apparels smeary and stained in ash and black spots. The slumbering stranger stretched and attempted to stand up, opening his glowing white eyes. Urjorahn looked more confused than ever, slowly rising up and looking around, terrified and lost. He touched his face and his dirty armor, fearing that he wanders through Vaermina's domain of bad dreams, but what he discovered was even more bloodcurdling than he imagined: the nightmare was real.

Urjorahn took a good look around: nothing except the ashmires and dying flames. He stepped on the rocks carefully, holding the pillars, giving the impression of a child that makes his first attempts at walking or a drunkard after the wildest of nights. He felt like both. Drenched in sweat and coughing ash, Urjorahn maundered about the pathway, murmuring something to himself. His tiredness was cast away when he stumbled upon the very tavern he left a while ago. Why the building was damaged so little might remain a mystery, but the Khajiit could care less. He was just about to push the front door when it collapsed by itself, revealing the inn's destroyed interior and the perforated walls. Urjorahn proceeded carefully, but then rolled towards the bar, opening every sideboard. Bloody lucky, he opened the last one to see what was nearly a miracle to him: a handful of raw ash yams and a loaf of stale bread. The Khajiit sprang upon food, and once he was done, he let loose the belts of his armor, exhaled and fell on the floor.

Once Urjorahn closed his eyes, he heard the quiet squeaking of the wooden stairs and the opening door behind him, followed by a female whisper:

"What the heck is that?"

The presence of someone other than him surprised Urjorahn more than the slow click of an unfamiliar mechanism. The Khajiit carefully turned around to see a Breton red-headed girl aiming an exquisite steel crossbow at him.

"Who in Oblivion are you?" the Breton asked, loading her weapon.

"My my, Rahn wants to ask the same question..." Urjorahn replied, "Perhaps the little cutie mortal would lower her weapon, so that we'd speak like civilized folk, eh?"

"Gods, you've been grave-digging? What's up with your armor?" the Breton glanced at the open cupboards behind the bar counter, and raised her crossbow once more, "Where's my damn food? I-"

"Shh," Urjorahn shut the girl's mouth before she could react.

"Hey! Don't shush me!"

The Khajiit did not reply, he sneaked outside and turned to the Red Mountain instead. He pulled his ears and ran back inside, pushing the shocked Breton on the floor moments before a heated wave of ash won through the wall, setting it aflame and blowing it out of its way. The bar counter the two crouched behind was able to withstand the fiery stream, but soon was burned and dilapidated.

Luckily for the two, the heated planks that fell on them preserved them, and no burns were inflicted upon the survivors. Once the wave passed, the lass searched for her crossbow in haste, and once it was found, she aimed it at Urjorahn yet again.

"Damn, this is not how the game is played. Rahn just saved the foolish mortal from the anger of the Ash King that would surely send you to a place the Khajiit came from. It ain't pretty, just so you know."

"Okay, but I'll keep an eye on you. And, thanks. My name is Clemence, and you must be..."

"Rahn needs to know how long he's been sleeping."

"What?"

The two exited the destroyed tavern and headed in an unknown direction. Everything felt the same, the same ashen wastelands, little variety in them. It was not difficult to get lost.

"Time is an unforgiving thing. Poor Rahn doesn't know what's going on. Where that Twin Lamp might be." Urjorahn cast a thoughful glance.

"Twin Lamp?" Clemence laughed, "You nuts? It's quite tall tale!"

"What does this one mean, tall tale?" Urjorahn exhaled.

"What, the legend of them noble Those-Who-End-Slavery? Forgotten, like the rest of the Third Era."

"What does this one mean, rest of the Third Era?"

"Are you crazy or what? There are no Twin Lamps! Look around, there is no Vvardenfell! Heck, it's two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era!" Clemence exclaimed.

"Fourth Era?"

"Err, who are you? Where have you been all that time? A lunatic?"

"Cat-folk from the sky. Rahn was away for just... a few minutes. When Dro-m'Athra watched the mortals spill blood in the midst of battle with the opening jaws of Oblivion, that's when I left... The Dro-m'Athra are... no longer watching."

"Pity. If it's the Oblivion Crisis you're talking about, then you've been "away" for two hundred years, lad," Clemence replied, "Wait, wait, wait a minute, I don't believe you! You're too young to live this long!"

"Who am I? Sheggorath? Rahn is incredibly sane. A simple Khajiit. Simple Khajiit never lie. Rahn only did it once, when Balmora's very stones sung the song of deception. In the shadows, then boom, a doorway to domain of Merrunz, then blood and death and-"

"What song?"

"Didn't you hear that? Clean your ears, mortal, a new verse echoes but is still silent. The refrain was written, now... Ah, now the next verse will purge the old ways and let the world be born anew... After the most dangerous mountain will tremble and Morrowind's very bones will shriek in fear, the... Wait... It already did..."

"I don't understand a thing."

"When did it happen, hmm? When?"

"You mean the Red Mountain?" Clemence shrugged.

"Of course Urjorahn means it."

"Oh, that was in the fifth year. I'm only 23, you know, don't expect me to retell the history of Morrowind, please."

Urjorahn did not say a word.

"What? Another ashfall?" Clemence said.

The Khajiit shoved her and pointed at the hill. Like the rest of Vvardenfell's landscape, it was no different from the ash dunes around. Yet something uncommon could be seen beyond the hill, a plank resembling a ship's mast. The two climbed up the hill to witness the strangest of sights: a shipwreck in the middle of the island.

"I can't believe it..." Clemence rubbed her eyes, "What could it be?"

"One of the secrets the Dwemer kept from the lessers, within an Imperial brigantine. A ship that was given wings, the blessing of flight conferred upon the wooden carcass... Sadly, the damn thing's broken."

"Hmm, perhaps we could... Fix it, huh?"

"Rahn wishes you good luck."

"Aw, come on, you furry bastard! We could at least try! I wonder what amazing experience we'll get once airborne!" Clemence punched Urjorahn's shoulder, and the Khajiit inhaled and nodded reluctantly.

Fixing a ship is no easy task. Especially when it is an airship. Nevertheless, Clemence's ambition and crafting skills soon encouraged Urjorahn, and the two then got their hands on the wondrous device. Countless days were spent on work, and the adventurers used to hide among the ship's cargo when the ashfall was getting exceptionally unrelenting. The same cargo provided them with much needed materials, and soon, the carcass was complete. There was neither time nor possibility for furnishings, and the airship was looking like a half-burned stack of wooden planks, barely capable of sailing, let alone flight. Clemence did not give up, and the ship was becoming more decent with every passing day. When it was finally finished, and the two were exhausted, with Urjorahn being tired to the point where he couldn't lift his finger without great effort, the only problem standing before the adventurers was how to make the thing fly.

"Maybe... umm... we must use some mythic magics to go up?" Clemence asked Urjorahn, whom she saw as more magically gifted.

She sat on an old rotten lever, accidentally pushing it, and the whole device started to tremble before the six giant paddle-wings on the airship's rear began to move, digging through the ash, and then the airship ascended, knocking the two off their feet with a horrific sound.

"It works! It works!" Clemence raised her hands and grappled the steering wheel, trying to cope with the airship, "Where will we go?"

"Refuge of the cursed people," Urjorahn replied, "Ash-covered like the rest. Where is it?"

"You mean, Solstheim?"

"Solstheim?"

"That's where most of the Dark Elves fled. So?"

Urjorahn nodded.


	12. Touching the Eclipse

_There has been quite a hiatus due to my travel schedules, and I've been unable to post a new chapter. However, I did not quit, as there are quite a few Books to be released! I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter._

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**Songs of Cinder, Book XII: Touching the Eclipse**

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"Hmm, Rahn is curious. How did this one end up on Vvardenfell?" the Khajiit asked, as the airship was surfing through the ash-filled bitter clouds.

"Wanna hear it?" Clemence replied, "My father, he was a good man. A wealthy merchant, sometimes spending all his coin on drinks, but he was a kind soul, unlike my mother. In fact, he drowned his septims because of her ice-cold heart. One day, he said he'd travel to the mainland Morrowind, to trade with the Dunmer, and eventually to bring my mother the Circlet of Enlightenment, something he said that would melt her chunk of ice... I wanted to go with him, but he told me to stay home. Then... the messenger visited us one day, saying that he was dead... Killed by some Dark Elf bitch! I grew up with the thought of avenging my father, and joined the Argonians that were invading Morrowind..."

"Argonians? Now that's a twist."

"They attacked the Dark Elves shortly after the eruption. Kicked the Houses hard, but were then driven away... Yet they are still out there, and they were after me in no time..."

"Rahn likes plot twists..."

"I... I... uh... I used to bed the Argonian chief," Clemence blushed, "And he was soon displeased, saying I didn't exceed his expectations and-"

"By Azurah," the Khajiit laughed, "The story gets ridiculous!"

"The point is, I lived among the rubble for two years, covering my tracks every damn day! The Argonians did not give up so easily, who could've known they have been holed up on Vvardenfell for hundreds of years! Even the chief's son, the young whelp of a lad, decided to continue his daddy's cause, and you don't wanna know what he wants to do with me!"

"Okay, alright, alright..." Urjorahn wiped the tears and stopped laughing for a moment.

"Your turn."

"My what? Rahn has no stories to tell. Sad."

Clemence took a disgruntled look at the Khajiit, and he coughed awkwardly.

It was the terrible sight of Solstheim, blanketed in ash and resembling a giant long-lost ancestral tomb, that distracted Clemence and made Urjorahn exhale in relief, for his story is a long and twisted one. The Young Phoenix, that's how the airship was called by Clemence, was right next to the refuge's rugged southern shore; Fort Frostmoth's lonely towers still looked strong and magnificent after withstanding an immolating ash wave. Urjorahn glanced at the castle and squinted; he was more than sure it was not as lonely as they think it is.

Young Phoenix was slowly alighting over the poisoned ocean, the breeze whiffled at the airship's ragged sails. It gained much needed acceleration and landed on the water, giant waves spreading in every direction, and then, the paddle-wings started slapping the water. The massive stone fortification was seen through a barrier of never-ending ash drifts. Lanterns dotting the docks illuminated the ship's deck, and then, the light passed round the colony's buildings as the two were getting closer and closer.

"Raven Rock." Clemence exhaled.

Redoran-style shell houses stood behind a street of Imperial two-story ones; the posts between the street and the wooden docks were adorned by the House's banners. Clemence docked the Young Phoenix to be welcomed by a calm, if a bit bitter, Dunmer in a noble's dress. It was made clear for the adventurers that the island is ought to be as inhospitable as the rest of ashen Morrowind, but the Dunmer's facial expression was quick to change when the two revealed themselves to be from Vvardenfell. Raven Rock usually expects the unwelcome visitors from the ice-cold west of Skyrim.

The locals always used to complain much. Even though the High King of Skyrim formally gave Solstheim to the dark-skinned refugees quite a while ago, they took it for granted, treating it as the only act of Nordic generosity. The Dunmer people always seemed to find a reason to complain. Despite this, Urjorahn and Clemence did see people with smiles on their faces, something they say is very rare nowadays. The ebony mine was reopened and they had work, after all. But nothing ever makes the refugees happy enough.

A large Imperial estate was one of the few beauties of the colony. Gatharian Manor was just outside Raven Rock's western watchtower, a few steps away from the coastal sacred stone. Rumors of a great hero of Oblivion Crisis reached Urjorahn's ears in the Retching Netch Cornerclub when he was taking a sip of sujamma and having one of the nicest meals of the past few days. His curiosity knew no bounds; soon he found his way to Gatharian Manor, but no one answered the knock on an ornate front door. Urjorahn sat on a chair that stood beside a door, and kept knocking for half a day. No one responded to his calls. The Khajiit ran out of patience, and attempted to pick the steel lock in haste. Once he was inside, he took a deep breath and sneaked towards the stairs before he heard someone growl and go down. He raised his ear and placed his hand on the dagger's hilt.

"I said... no visitors today!.. Seguri, that you? Bastard, you have the key... Damnit!.." an elder groaned, and then drew his mace above his shoulder, "Who... who in Oblivion are you? Damn thief!"

"Hey, hey, hey, chill a bit, we can talk like, err, mortals, right? Uh? No need to swing the mace left and right, trust Rahn."

"I'll cut your tail off, filthy n'wah... Wait..."

"Lucky sod, Rahn has no tail, mate." the Khajiit lifted his brow when the elder sheathed his weapon.

"Tailless... Tailless? Is that you, bastard?" the elder went towards Urjorahn, "Is that... Wait, how? How-"

"Rub your eyes, there this one goes. Who the heck are you, hmm? Rahn's curious..."

"Rahn? Urjorahn? Damn, lad, you're alive! Remember your fella? It's me, Yen!"

"Err..."

"You look young, lad! Just as the time we... lost you. So, what happened?.." old Yen then took a suspicious look at the Khajiit, "Wait... How can I be certain you're damn real, eh? You might as well be a Daedra, disguised?"

Urjorahn did not utter a single word. He grinned.

"Rahn guesses he's only slept for two weeks, uh?"

"B'vek, no!" Yen chuckled in relief, "Urjorahn, old friend! I'm glad you're... well, it's hard to believe my eyes... You look just like... Like in Third Era, lad... I... I hope you know what's going on, what time it is. Year two hundred and two, Fourth Era."

The Khajiit nodded.

"And Llether... he... is dead, Urjorahn." Yen looked down.

"Sad. But Velar is not." the Khajiit replied, "He still bathes in the dark waters, but when the wall is repaired, it won't let the waters leak. Velar is hell-bent on cracking it open once more, let the flow of black blot out the eye of Aetherius, a hole torn in the cloak of Oblivion. He toys with Rahn, and let the stream decide Khajiit's fate. But he shall toy no more, the void of red shall not be cast upon the veil of night."

"I didn't understand a word."

"This one doesn't need to."

The two went outside and to the market stands when Clemence, working at the forge with a Breton lad like her, placed her crossbow by the sharpening wheel and rushed to Yen, startled by the looks of her.

"Stendarr preserve us!" she bowed humbly, "Isn't it Yen Gatharian? Bane of the Daedra! Bow before the champion, you furry fool!"

Urjorahn and Yen laughed out loud.

"No need for this crap," Yen replied, "I might be a hero, yet I'm still a simple man at heart."

"Uh... But he talks to you like you are a mere friend of his!" the Breton pointed at Urjorahn.

"Because I am a friend of his." Yen laughed.

Urjorahn stood surprised as Yen chuckled at Clemence's attitude. The two soon regaled the Breton with a tale of their travels back in Third Era, a time Clemence only read about in the lore books. The stories told over a cup of good old greef and the rumors of tavern wenches soon enlightened the three with an idea to visit the Councilor's library just a couple of streets away. Acting as a dusty old scholar having himself dug deep into both old and new tomes, Urjorahn found the stories of an ashen stronghold buried within Solstheim's southern wastes, the notes of travelers unlucky enough to cross blades with the Ash Spawn, whatever those creatures might be. The myths of the first-born of Akatosh, the black-winged Alduin, World-Eater, and his mortal enemy Dragonborn, a hero of legend; the Champion of Cyrodiil, known as the Hero of Kvatch, who helped the last heir of Septim bloodline close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion, ending the Third Era; the legendary Morrowind hero Nerevarine, Indoril Nerevar reborn, who crippled the treacherous Tribunal and ended the reign of the Sixth House and evil Dagoth Ur. There, he stopped, switching to the revised edition of the history of Morrowind, which included recorded events of the early Fourth Era. He learned that House Telvanni had its holdings on Solstheim, and that is where he should restart his quest. The giant fungus of Tel Mithryn was the adventurers' destination; Urjorahn hoped that the old Master Neloth would know a clue to the stronghold's whereabouts.

The blasted island did not have any notable methods of transportation aside from occasional gondoliers taking travelers back and forth between Raven Rock and Tel Mithryn. The three decided to go along the beaten path instead. Unfortunately for them, no wagon could be ridden east; in fact, no steeds were present on Solstheim at all. They had to travel on foot. The Bulwark, a front wall that protected the colony from ash waves, had its gates open, and the adventurers left in spite of the Redoran guards' admonitions. No one could know for sure what awaited the travelers beyond the Bulwark. And what did, was unbelievable.

Killing a few scribs was hardly a challenge for the three, and the hot midday sun, shining upon them through a dome of cinder, was a far more annoying thing. The vast expanse of nothingness, a few burned trees and ashfall, a place that once was a lush Skyrim forest was before the travelers after a steep climb up the basalt formations on the hill. The mushroom's top dominated the eastern horizon, providing them with an easily identifiable landmark to walk towards. Yen and Clemence swept the ash from a chest near a hollowed-out tree, the Dunmer opened the chest to find no valuable loot inside, and sat by it, hoping to shelter himself in the shade. Urjorahn scouted the surroundings, checking every rock and root in hopes to find treasure. The serenity of the midday camp was broken when they heard a roar thundering in the sky, and then an enormous winged shadow surfed above the trees, sending the ash drifts aloft, revealing itself to be a dark scaly nemesis breathing fire. It was a dragon.

Urjorahn, Yen and Clemence gathered in a hurry, the latter showing signs of being slightly afraid of the thing they encountered. The Khajiit unsheathed his shining shortsword and shoved Yen.

"Hey, remember Rahn told this one that dragons were just invisible, eh?"

"Dragons?"

The dialogue was soon interrupted by a stream of fire finding its way to the camp, the shadow following it, and Clemence's rain of steel bolts.

"Rahn wishes he didn't say that."

The dragon landed before the three with a deafening roar, as five of the fletcher's bolts were sticking out of its scaled wing. The adventurers advanced to the monster in their desperate attempts to defeat it. A few dozen of blows, followed by a strange shouting of alien words and a conjured ward before the fighters, and then another few dozen of swings and blocks. The dark scales of a mighty creature could withstand these attacks, but it could not be said that the adventurers barely made a dent on that dragon. At dusk, the fight ceased, the dragon was not slain but its strength was being drained away with time. With both sides unable to fight any longer, the dragon ascended, attempted to fly away but fell under the pressure of its damaged wings. The column of ash was raised above its resting place, with every tree eventually falling down on the dragon. The three, severely wounded, sighed in relief and proceeded further east.

The village of Tel Mithryn was standing on a high coastal hill. A small creek divided the open wastes and the settlement. A silt strider dock was just before the village's entrance, and a middle-aged Dunmer was tending the steed's carapace. A forest of Emperor Parasol, a common feature of the House Telvanni's lands, was the only thing between the travelers and Tel Mithryn. The courtyard dotted with roots, spiral staircases to the fungal houses, a magnificent walkway to Tel Mithryn's large round front door - a typical Telvanni settlement at best. Urjorahn expected to meet Neloth personally, but the adventurers were greeted by his steward instead. It didn't matter much, as they were informed of stronghold's location as well as its name: Archagruhn.

Just north of the sacred obelisk, the Sun Stone, stands this piece of Dunmer craftsmanship. The three couldn't help but wonder how it was built, as Velar's mortal form was destroyed hundreds of years ago. They had no time for thinking; they had a fort to besiege. The sky was turning black as the adventurers approached, the red eclipse was conjured in the sky, casting a shroud of otherworldly night over the island. Velar himself came to spectate the battle that was about to ensue, perhaps even take part in it himself.

The walls were occupied by sinister creatures of magical ash, holding their fiery swords and spears steady. The so-called Ash Spawn, mindless beasts perhaps even made using the power of Dagoth Ur's dark curses, were stationed in the derelict towers and around the overgrown trama roots that made their way through the stone rubble. They did not look like the ashen zombies of Corprusarium, Yen thought. Still, there was something foul about those soldiers.

Three adventurers are hardly a force to be reckoned with, and it was obvious that they were not enough for a siege. Under a red eclipse, the three set up camp, too hesitant to make a move towards the Ash Spawn. The shadowy figure slipped through the fort's ruined western gate, past the spires of trama root trees, avoiding the dim light of dark elven lanterns hanging on them. Urjorahn climbed on the watchtower's wall, his cowl on and his dagger ready. He hoped that he'd pass undetected, as the ashen monsters were watching over the eastern wing. As the Khajiit got to the rail on the destroyed top of the watchtower and hopped on the scaffolding that barely looked stable enough, he started examining the Ash Spawn's garrison patterns. This was no easy task - an impossible one in truth - the creatures were guarding Archagruhn without a slightest trace of organization, and thus no patterns were followed. Urjorahn tied the end of his rope to a rail and checked whether it was safe to pull. The second end was tied to his belt. With this done, he took a deep breath and leapt, translocating to the tower's rear support structure in a cloud of shadows. He ran back to the camp, where Yen and Clemence were planning a stealthy assault on the main gate. The three knew they wouldn't succeed if an open siege was to be undertaken; the retainers of House Telvanni didn't care much, so it didn't make any sense to rely on reinforcements in case of defeat.

Yen went outside; the eclipse dominated the dark sky. He shot a look at the fort, pulled up a chair and opened his book. The strange echo of a hundred armor plates interrupted his reading break. He stood up and looked south: dozens of silhouettes appeared on the horizon, every one armed to the teeth and mounted on a guar. The ash-sodden ground trembled at the army's approach, the leader sprinted forward and lifted a flag of House Redoran above his men. Yen stood still, as Hlormaren, clad in fine ebony, unmounted his guar and greeted the three.

"Need help?" the Master grinned, Yen was unable to reply, "Modyn sent me here. Surprise, eh?"

"Just in time, damnit! Out of nowhere!" Clemence exclaimed, "But, who are you?"

"Oh," Yen replied, "The finest warriors you've ever seen..."

Hlormaren arrived to Raven Rock shortly after the adventurers' departure. The heavy warship they sailed on housed quite a bit of supplies, arms and armor. Hlormaren's lieutenants unfolded their siege tents, and the soldiers dragged boxes towards the campfire. Yen took a metal staff and cracked the boxes open. Quivers of ebony bolts, swords and axes, crossbows and throwing stars, dai-katanas and shortswords - everything the attackers might need, including polished armor sets of steel, silver and ebony.

Yen always liked the element of surprise; his plan to call Hlormaren worked, and now Archagruhn stood before a fortified encampment of Redoran warriors ready for an assault. The adventurers admired the old hero's tactics, and Yen was to command the army alongside Hlormaren.

The other side did not stand idle either; Velar was certain to foresee the attackers' reinforcements, and Archagruhn's inner halls, seen through the towers' cracks, were engulfed in a brief interplay of red light and complete darkness as if the horde of Daedra was being summoned to ambush the enemy. There was no time to lose and the siege could no longer be delayed.

A blink of an eye, and then, blind rage, the shades of red, the deadly blow, the army swarming the fort's gates, flooding the towers and battling the undead, a massive push on the doors, and the Daedra.

Hlormaren and Yen held their shining weapons aloft, mounted on their guars and advancing into the fort's collapsed main wing, buried in dirt and ash. Followed by an unstoppable force of fifty Redoran soldiers sweeping away the wild Dremora troops, Urjorahn rushed into the deepest chamber of Archagruhn. Pillars of stone held the balcony, carved into the cove's wall, and the stairs down to the shrines with alien engravings. A red void swallowed the lights of lanterns, sending forth more Dremora to surround the Khajiit.

"Welcome... back," the voice echoed. This was no secret Velar was about to play his part. Urjorahn knew, "The final ingredient within the Impure... Now, you know, I understand what I needed you for... Amusing! Not under the red harvest moon, but an eclipse is when the heart shall be thrown into the fire, and let the curse be unleashed upon the unholy plates!"

Two black hands appeared behind the void, pointing at the nightblade, whose bloodied sword awaited the next rage-filled orgy of battle.

"Go..."

The Dremora advanced, and Urjorahn raised his blade. Then, his vision blurred, and he dropped the sword. All the Khajiit saw was an another horde gathering around the prey, with the leader coming close, ready to proclaim the hunters finally victorious. A splatter of his own blood blinded Urjorahn; all he felt was the wave of pain, the sound of unheard screams as if he already bid farewell to the spirits of the afterlife to depart to Foyada Padhome instead. He felt the rush of blood, and then it stopped, the flow was no more. The laugh was the last thing he heard, and he was unable to tell whether it was the Dremora, or the void spirits that grappled his soul.

When Yen and Clemence reached the shrine wing, there was no horde, but the stains of blood leading to a heavily breathing Urjorahn. Clemence ran to him, touched his cracked cuirass to see that it was severely damaged, a hole torn in ebony like it was simple leather, blood dripping from the broken ribcage. She started to cry, as Yen tried to console her. Both stood before dead Urjorahn.

Lifeless, heartless, banished.


End file.
